Of Noblest Heart
by AJ Kline
Summary: COMPLETELY REMASTERED ON 3/24/14: edited/proofed/trimmed, completely new content added. Amelie, Jean, and Anna Marie Azarath are three Breton siblings working together to save Cyrodiil. Martinxfem PC. T for language/blood/death. Spoils main quest and Shivering Isles. Please R&R!
1. The Fall of Kvatch

**The Fall of Kvatch**

It had come in the night, rising out of stone and earth, spewing fire and demons. Kvatch had fallen to the Great Gate and broken apart in a matter of minutes. There was no way to know who was left besides them, huddled in the Chapel of Akatosh with only a few soldiers for protection.

A priest stood near the back of the chapel, looking out the great stained glass window. The colors could not mask the angry flames that consumed the city, Akatosh himself could do nothing. Brother Martin prayed again, and again, for release and rescue. If Akatosh could not save them, who could?

The door to the chapel opened at long last. Soldiers entered the chapel to find the few shaken, but otherwise unharmed, civilians. Savlian Matius, what remained of his men, and three strangers had somehow beaten back the opposition to come to them.

"All right. Soldier, report," Kvatch's guard captain Savlian told one of the remaining guards. One of the strangers, a blonde Breton woman in heavy armor, conferred with another one of the guards. The other two, also Breton but both brown of hair, spoke softly with each other.

"Sir, we're all that's left," Tierra said, scrambling to her feet to meet Savlian. "Beirich Inian, myself, and these civilians."

Savlian looked around, taking a head count and visibly deflating. There were not many in the chapel. "That's it? There's no one else?"

"There were others, sir. But they refused to stay put. We tried to convince them it was dangerous, but they left anyway..." Tierra frowned. "I guess they didn't make it."

Savlian paused, looking back to the three strangers. None of them spoke. "Very well. The area outside the Chapel has been cleared, and these people need to be taken to safety. Escort them to the camp south of here at once."

"But sir! I want to help fight!"

"Savlian, I will escort them," one of the strangers, a brunette Breton woman in a burned, frayed blue dress, said. "You will need as much help as you can get in the coming fights."

"You sure?" asked the final stranger, the brunet Breton man. "I'm actually pretty sure they could find their own way down."

"I will take no chances," she said firmly.

The civilians gathered around her; she surveyed them all, looking for injuries or wounds. Nothing too serious. Quite a few of them would need patching up once they reached the encampment, though.

"All right. Take them down, be careful."

"Stay safe," the male stranger added.

"We will."

A small girl ran up to the woman leading them back, holding out her arms. Smiling, she picked the little girl up, carrying her as she led the civilians towards the site.

"What's your name, little one?" she asked.

"Bodin," she said.

"What a wonderful name," she said, carefully stepping over fallen rocks. "Where's your mother?"

"I dono."

The woman paused. "Not to worry, Bodin," she said. "We will find her."

They reached the encampment at long last, several of the survivors from the temple running to embrace friends and family members from whom they had been separated.

"...maybe she's still there, in a basement somewhere..."

"Mama!" Bodin squirmed in her arms, she placed her on the ground to watch her run towards her mother. "Mama!"

"Bodin? Oh, thank Akatosh!" The woman knelt down and hugged her daughter tightly, tears in her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Martin followed the survivors down, looking around at the sliver of hope set up near the ruins of Kvatch. Those of them that were left had been lucky. The sense of dread was lessening as loved ones returned, but the air in the encampment still hung heavily with loss.

"M-My lady!" The Redguard woman, now carrying Bodin, approached the stranger. "My name is Tavia. I cannot thank you enough for returning Bodin safely!"

"She's a sweet young girl," she said, nodding. "You are raising her well."

"Thank you... Weren't there two others with you?" Tavia asked as they walked through the encampment.

"Yes. My brother Jean Christophe and my sister Anna Marie are helping Savlian Matius retake the city," she explained. "I am here to offer whatever aid I can."

"Yours is a truly blessed soul," Tavia said gratefully. "It's people like you and your family that give me hope in these troubled times."

Martin turned as a family called out to him, requesting aid.

"I-I don't know how to stop the pain," a man said.

"Do not worry. Let me help..."

A few hours passed, spent in miscellaneous healing spells and alchemical mixtures. It was nearly nightfall when the other two strangers returned with Savlian Matius.

"How you holding up?" the man, Jean, asked, finally taking off his helmet. He was tall for a Breton, sandy hair and tanned skin streaked with soot from the burning city. He shucked off a bow and a quiver of arrows onto the ground, stretching. He was nearing fifty and his face bore the scars and bruises of a veteran soldier, but he had a deep, gentle voice that spoke quickly and with purpose to his two sisters. "Everything go ok?"

"Fine," the brunette said. "Uneventful." She was the frailest of the three, small, willowy and delicate-looking in her mid-thirties. If the flames flying from her fingertips towards the fire pit were any indication, though, she needed no protection. Her voice carried a formality to it that suggested she was well-spoken and widely read. She froze in her conversation, frowning. "What—"

"Bag," Jean said.

"Right." She opened her bag, rooting through it for something. "I think we all got a little burned though," she added, pulling out a potion bottle and showing him the burnt hems on her dress and sleeves. The end of her long brown braid was similarly singed and smoking. "Such are the dangers of Oblivion." She uncorked the bottle and poured a dose of potion out into her hands. It steamed as she rubbed it over her arms and face. "Burn salve?"

_"Yes."_ Jean stuck out his hands, taking a palmful of potion to his face as well.

"That dress of yours was old, anyway," the blonde woman, Anna Marie, said, removing her gauntlets and helmet to take some of the salve. She was clearly the youngest of the three, on the cusp of twenty and thirty with a high voice, round face, and bright eyes. Her eyes, unlike the deep brown of her brother and sister, were clear and blue. Anna Marie and her sister were both head and shoulders shorter than her brother, but Anna Marie boasted a stocky frame built for heavy armor and serious weaponry. "We can get some nicer clothes when we get to Chorrol."

"I think it may be wise to buy an extra set of light clothes, as well," the brunette added, turning to a setup of borrowed alchemical apparatuses. "In the event of another Oblivion Gate barring our path, having a set of clothing meant for heat might be good. Er..." She frowned at her calcinator, and turned to Jean for help.

"Bag," said Jean again. She sighed, pulling a handful of ingredients from her bag to create something new.

"Agreed," said the blonde. "I was almost dying of heat in there."

"Get out of that armor, then, Anna Marie," Jean said.

"I am NOT about to strip in the middle of town," she snapped back, offended. They laughed.

Tavia offered them a tent and some blankets for the night, which Jean and Anna Marie set up, bickering for a while as the brunette went about distributing potion. When she ran out, she returned to the tent. Martin, curious, approached her.

"Excuse me."

"Hm?" She looked up. Martin stood in the doorway of the tent. "Yes?"

"I wanted to thank you for your help," he said as she got up. "Your skills have saved lives tonight."

"You do me too much honor," she said modestly. "A few people just needed patching up, was all."

"All the same. Your help is much appreciated. May I ask your name?"

"Amelie Rose Azarath," she said, inclining her head.

"A lovely name. I am Brother Martin," he said, smiling. "I don't expect you will be staying here?"

"My family and I have matters to attend to in Chorrol," Amelie said. "We will stay the night, and be off in the morning."

"I see. I wish you safe travels."

"Thank you, Brother Martin."

He left the family be, returning to his own tent for as good a night's sleep as could be expected.

Voices woke Martin from an anxious sleep mere hours later. The three strangers must have been leaving. He got up and sleepily looked outside the tent. Amelie, Jean, and Anna Marie were, indeed, heading off in the direction of Chorrol. Someday, perhaps he would meet them again.


	2. The Last Heir

**The Last Heir**

A day later, the siblings sprinted from the priory, Amelie frantically trying to read her map as she ran. Brother Jauffre, the Grandmaster of the Blades, had taken the Amulet from them. In exchange he told them a tale of an illegitimate heir, a boy by the name of Martin who grew up to become a priest who served in a temple in Kvatch. The Grandmaster of the Blades confessed a feeling of foreboding regarding the destruction of Kvatch, and they had to agree.

Where would Martin be? Amelie recalled his name and voice but not his face, and so they ran to recover him.

"Forget the roads, it's broad daylight," Jean said. "Kvatch is almost directly southwest of here, we'll be fine."

"We probably walked right past him!" Anna Marie wailed.

"He was alive yesterday, surely he can't have died by now," Amelie reasoned.

"Provided the daedra didn't come back," Jean said.

They traveled through the day, reaching the remains of the city just before dark. The inhabitants of the encampment greeted them warmly, surprised at their sudden return.

"Brother Martin... what does he look like?" Anna Marie asked breathlessly, scanning the few people she could see.

"Er..." Amelie racked her brains, and came up blank, as she often did. Butterflies and roots flew through her mind, obstructing her vision.

"He's a priest, look for the collar," Jean suggested.

"What if he's changed?" Anna Marie asked.

"You really think people here have clothes left, after yesterday?"

Amelie snapped her fingers. "He must look a great deal like the Emperor himself—"

"Amelie, none of us met the Emperor except for you," Jean reminded her.

"It's not very helpful," Anna Marie agreed.

"It doesn't help me either! Pull out a coin and compare!" Amelie snapped, frustrated.

They split up, asking around as the camp began to fall asleep. Finally, Anna Marie came across a priest who looked to be about the proper age.

"Excuse me!"

Martin turned around at her voice. "Hm?"

Anna Marie held a septim up to the light, comparing the two faces. He had brown hair and a squarish face, deep brown eyes and Imperial tones in his voice. He was younger than the Emperor, that was for sure, but was arly forties the right age? His skin was tanned rather than gold, and Anna Marie supposed that was to be expected from a coin. She grinned in triumph. Close enough. "YES! Amelie! Jean!" she shouted, waving. "This way!"

Martin frowned, confused. "Can I help you?"

"Martin, right?" Jean asked, arriving on the spot, also comparing Martin against a coin in his hand. "Huh. How bout that."

"We've been looking for you," Anna Marie said.

"Me? Why?"

"Brother Martin?" Amelie approached them at last, looking frazzled. She looked him up and down, her demeanor calming as she did. "Oh, thank the gods."

"Ah! Amelie. What happened?" Martin asked. "I thought the three of you would be in Chorrol by now."

"We were in Chorrol, but we came back for you," Amelie said. Martin looked nonplussed.

"Whatever for?"

"My lord." Amelie took a deep breath. "You are Uriel Septim's son."

Martin stared at her for a moment. "Emperor Uriel Septim's son?" he repeated. "Please, there are many others here that could use your help."

"Are you not Brother Martin, priest of Akatosh?" Amelie asked as he began to turn away.

"Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest?" he asked doubtfully. "I doubt I will be of much help. I've had trouble understanding the gods lately. If there is a divine plan for all this, I'm not sure I know what it is."

"There _is_ a plan," Amelie said confidently. "And we are a part of it."

"How can you say such a thing?" Martin asked, more accusatory than curious. "All through that night I prayed to Akatosh, but no help came. Only more daedra."

_"Rude,"_ Jean said pointedly.

"The daedra were coming for you," Amelie said, shoving Jean's arm. He recoiled, grumbling at her. "Please listen to me."

"For me?" Martin asked. "Because I am the Emperor's son? You are mistaken, my father was a farmer."

"Gods be damned, we don't have the time for this," Jean breathed, grabbing the back of Martin's robes and dragging him in the general direction of Chorrol.

"JEAN!" Amelie snapped her fingers, shooting a small bolt of lightning at Jean as she glared at him. The shock, far from fatal, was enough to force Jean to drop Martin.

"Ow!"

"Emperor or otherwise, that is no way to treat someone," Amelie reprimanded, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

"What if this really isn't him?" Jean asked. "What makes you think that _this_ is the only man that can save us from Oblivion? We're wasting our time."

"I am confident that..." She broke off, turning to search Martin's face again.

"Martin," Jean said quietly.

"Brother Martin is the heir," Amelie finished firmly. "Trust me."

Martin crossed his arms, thinking. What was going on? Could this be true?

"Please, my lord," Amelie implored. "At least come with us to speak with Brother Jauffre in Weynon Priory."

"If Martin can wear the Amulet of Kings, then that's proof, right?" Anna Marie piped up.

"The Amulet of Kings?"

"Only those of Septim blood can wear it," Amelie explained. "Surely you're aware?"

"Well... yes, of course."

"Then come with us," Amelie said. "We must keep you safe, and if we are wrong—"

"Chorrol's not _that_ from Kvatch, you can walk yourself back if we're wrong," Jean said.

Martin looked between the three siblings. Although his mind said otherwise, his instincts compelled him to believe them.

"All right," Martin said. "All right. I'll go with you and hear what your friend Jauffre has to say."

Amelie breathed a sigh of relief. "Wonderful."

"Can we stay the night here?" Jean asked, looking around. "Night travel's a bad idea."

"Yes. We have yet to take down the tent the three of you used," Martin said, head still reeling. "You can stay there."

"Great. We'll set out tomorrow morning," Jean said, clapping Martin on the back. "Get some rest, something tells me you'll be needing it."

* * *

Despite Jean's advice, Martin found it difficult to sleep. Fed up with tossing and turning in his tent, he got up, intending to sit by the fire for a while. To his surprise, Amelie was also there, sitting with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hands. She looked up.

"No sleep for you, either?" she asked. Martin shook his head. "I understand. It _is_ a bit much to process in one night."

"I think I shall have a hard enough time processing it in one lifetime," Martin admitted, sitting down opposite her. "The Emperor's son...?"

Amelie nodded absently. "You can imagine my surprise when I learned an heir still lived."

Martin remained silent, letting the weight of this information drop on him. The heir to the Dragon Throne. The heir to the Empire. The son of the Emperor. What responsibility for a simple priest to take upon himself, and in such a time of crisis!

"Would you like some tea?" Amelie asked, nodding to a small pot over the fire. "It's nothing special, but if you like..."

"Please."

Amelie got up, fetching another mug from the remains of a cabinet and pouring the rest of the tea from the pot into it.

"Tell me about your father," Amelie said, handing him the mug.

"My father the Emperor?"

"No. Your father the farmer," Amelie said. "Unless I'm much mistaken, you never met your father the Emperor."

Martin nodded, sipping the tea. It was calming and warm, if a little bitter. He supposed that a Breton's taste in tea differed from an Imperial's.

"He was a good man," Martin said. "He worked hard and never complained."

"A good man, indeed." Amelie took a sip of her own tea, staring into the fire. "I'm glad such a man was responsible for you."

"What about your father?" Martin asked politely. Amelie shrugged, her expression largely unchanged.

"Bearded, maybe? I couldn't say." She paused a moment, before seeming to snap out of a reverie. "M-My apologies," she said, turning her attention to him. "There are days I cannot remember my own name, let alone my family."

"Your siblings seem to remember things for you," Martin pointed out. Amelie gave a hollow laugh.

"They do. It is more or less thanks to them I can claim with any degree of certainty that I am who I say. Were it not for them, I would still be wandering lost."

Martin drank his tea in silence. Brilliant. A band of insane amnesiacs has come to him, claiming him as the heir of Uriel Septim VII. And he had trusted them! What in the world had he gotten himself into?

"You said you met my father?" Martin prompted, waving away his spiraling thoughts. "The Emperor?"

"Yes," Amelie said. "I believe I was one of the last people to see him alive. Before he died, he gave me the Amulet of Kings and tasked me with finding Jauffre, and Jauffre asked us to find you."

He fell silent. Amelie leaned forward, catching his gaze. "The divine plan... I may not know what it is, either," she admitted. "But I intend to serve both the Empire and the Nine as long as they need me."

"I see. I admire your devotion," Martin said.

She smiled. "Thank you."

They spent awhile at the fire, talking and discussing. They spoke of their homes, Amelie's full of butterflies and bright flowers over gloomy overgrowth, Martin's walled in with stained glass and effigies of the gods. They spoke of magic and daedra, of Martin's time in Amelie's beloved Mages Guild, and wondering how powerful someone must be to summon forth Oblivion itself. They spoke of themselves, how they had come to Kvatch.

"Born and raised," Martin said. "Or, at least, raised."

Amelie smiled. "We live on the coast, now, but we didn't always. Anvil is a lovely town."

"I have never been for more than a visit."

"One day, perhaps?" Amelie downed the rest of her tea, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "My lord, I think I shall turn in. We should at least try to rest."

Martin nodded, knocking back the rest of his tea. "I agree."

They went their separate ways, and Martin slept no easier.

* * *

"Watch your back!"

Jean shot off an arrow, nailing a rogue bandit right between the eyes. Anna Marie whipped around, alarmed. Amelie and Martin turned around as well. Jean shook his head, annoyed.

"We're protecting what _could_ be the future Emperor," Jean reprimanded. "Pay attention."

"I _am_ paying attention!" Anna Marie protested.

"Not enough attention," Jean snapped. "Listen, until we get back to Chorrol, everyone we meet is an armed enemy."

"Jean, that sounds a bit much," Amelie said, frowning. "I realize there will be fewer innocent travelers around, but there is no reason to instantaneously destroy everyone on sight."

"I agree," Martin said. "I don't understand why you're being so protective."

"You're right, it's a pain," Jean said. Anna Marie whacked him upside the head. "Ow!"

"Martin, you're the Emperor," Anna Marie said bluntly. "Maybe not yet, but you _are_ the one we need."

"Perhaps," Martin said. Amelie smiled wryly.

"Still doubtful?" she asked.

"A bit. But that's not my point," Martin said. "No one else knows of my heritage but you three and Jauffre, right?"

"I think it's a pretty well-kept secret," Anna Marie said.

"Then why would there be enemies against me in the first place?" Martin asked. "I myself was told only yesterday. I cannot see how the rest of the world would know by now as well."

"He has a point," Anna Marie said. Jean crossed his arms.

"Look, I don't care. You might be right, but that's no excuse to leave you unprotected," Jean said. "If you die now, we're all going with you."

"No one is going to die," Amelie said, exasperated. "We are simply going to Chorrol. There is nothing threatening about this journey yet."

"Yet," Jean sighed.


	3. The Blades

**The Blades**

They reached Weynon Priory at nightfall. The place looked deserted from afar. Jean suddenly held his bow out in front of them, preventing them from moving forward.

"Something's wrong," he said, standing still as he looked over the priory, then over his shoulder. "Something's... off."

One of the priory shepherds came sprinting towards them through the darkness, alone. "Help! You must help!" he shouted as he drew nearer. "They... they're killing everyone at Weynon Priory!"

"Slow down. What happened?" Jean asked. Anna Marie drew her sword. Amelie and Martin both primed spells, ready to fight on a moment's notice.

"I don't know!" Eronor panicked. "The, the Prior is dead, I think they're right behind me!"

"Who?" Jean asked, immediately turning around with an arrow at the ready in the event they had been surrounded.

"I don't know, they looked like travelers, ordinary. They cut the Prior down before he could move! They saw me, and I ran," Eronor explained, nearly hyperventilating as he did.

"Where's Jauffre?" Anna Marie asked.

"In the Chapel, praying, I think. You must help—!"

_"Get down!"_ Anna Marie shoved the shepherd aside, bashing a man in red robes back with her shield. "Run, we can handle this!"

The shepherd obeyed, scrambling out of sight.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Jean said. "Amelie Rose, get Martin to the Chapel, make sure he and Jauffre are safe."

Amelie closed her eyes, struggling again with things she could not remember. "Jauffre's—"

"Old! Tonsure! Monk!" Jean shouted, loosing an arrow into the darkness. "Go!"

"Right!" Amelie conjured up a shield of magicka, staying close to Martin. "Come with me!"

Martin followed blindly, firing flames over his shoulder at random to keep back the invaders. She threw open the doors to the Chapel, ushering Martin inside.

"JAUFFRE?" she shouted. "JAUFFRE!"

"Amelie?"

Jauffre was upstairs in the Chapel, there were sounds of a fight. Amelie and Martin ran up the stairs to find Jauffre, fighting off more of the robed figures.

"Amelie! You're back! Thank Talos!" Jauffre said, running one of them through with his sword.

"Yes, what happened here?" Amelie asked.

Jean appeared out of nowhere, seizing a robed figure that had been creeping up on her and Martin and slicing his neck. He tossed the body aside, keeping the bloody knife at the ready. "Gods' sakes, _watch your back. _Is that all of them?" he asked.

"Possibly. I hope so," Amelie breathed, staring in shock at the pool of blood the attacker now lay in.

"Martin, is he...? Is this him?" Jauffre asked, looking Martin over. Amelie snapped out of her shock, and nodded.

"Yes, this is him," she said. "He is safe, but I get the impression that the longer we stay here, the less safe it becomes."

"I agree, Martin cannot stay here," Jauffre said quickly. "They will be back when they learn of Martin's survival."

"Which they will," Jean said dismally. Anna Marie entered the Chapel at last, her sword still at the ready.

"Is everyone ok?" she asked, mounting the stairs. "All in one piece, still?"

"Yes—"

"Good!" she chimed, smiling brightly. "Good. That wasn't so bad."

"The Amulet," Jauffre said suddenly. "We must see if the Amulet is safe!"

"You don't have it?" Jean asked.

"It is in a safe place, but I fear the Amulet was the target of this attack," Jauffre said. "We must ensure its safety!"

The party followed Jauffre back to his study in the priory house. He ransacked the desk and drawers, growing more panicked with each passing unsuccessful second.

"They've taken it," Jauffre said finally. "The Amulet of Kings is gone. The enemy has defeated us at every turn."

Jean let his head fall back against the wall. "Great."

"But Martin is safe," Anna Marie pointed out. "All is not lost yet."

Jauffre paused, taking a deep breath. "True, it has not all gone against us. Thank Talos for that," he said. "We have lost the Amulet of Kings, but we have gained Uriel's heir."

"What do we do now?" Jean asked.

"We must ensure Martin's safety," Amelie said at once. "We cannot stay here. Where will he be safe?"

"Nowhere is truly safe from the power arrayed against us," Jauffre said. "But we must play for time, at least. Cloud Ruler Temple, I think. The secret fortress of the Blades, in the mountains north of Bruma," Jauffre explained. "A few men can hold it against an army."

"Sounds wonderful," Anna Marie said.

"We ought to set out as soon as possible. If we leave now, we should reach Bruma by morning," said Jean. "We can come up with a real plan once we get there."

Jauffre nodded. "We can take Prior Maborel's horses from the stable. He... won't be needing them anymore."

"Let's go," Jean said, taking charge. "Amelie Rose, you stick with Jauffre and Martin. Anna Marie, you and I will cover the flanks and keep watch for incoming enemies."

Anna Marie nodded. "Torches?"

"None," Amelie said, searching through her bag. Jean checked his own, and also came up empty. "I have a few Nighteye potions, though. Not enough for everyone, though."

"Give them to Anna Marie, Martin, and Jauffre," Jean said. "I'll be ok."

"Nonsense—"

"I'll be ok," Jean insisted. "You know a spell, don't you?"

"Er... Yes. Basic, but it'll do," Amelie confirmed.

"Jauffre, where are the horses?" Jean asked, turning his attention to the Grandmaster as they left the priory.

Martin's head was spinning. So much was happening, and he got the impression he only vaguely understood it all. As far as he knew, this was only the tip of the crisis iceberg.

"My lord?" Amelie asked as they followed Jauffre towards the stables. "You have been awfully quiet. What do you think?"

Martin had to stop and think. "I... I don't know what to think. This is certainly the last thing I ever expected to happen. A few days ago I was just a priest. I still _am_ just a priest!" he pointed out.

Jauffre shook his head. "Martin. Sire. I brought you to Kvatch from the hands of the Emperor himself. You _are_ his heir, you must believe that."

Martin opened his mouth, but could not think of a reply.

Amelie smiled wryly. "Do not worry yourself too much. We are here to keep you safe, no matter who you are."

* * *

The ride towards Cloud Ruler Temple was rushed, if quiet. Martin kept his eye trained on Jauffre's horse in front of them, the only sounds coming from the horse's hooves, the constant clanking that he knew to be armor, and the occasional soft whooshing sound that accompanied Amelie's spellcasting. Luckily for them, they didn't encounter any problems to the scale of what had happened in Weynon Priory. In the back of his mind, Martin wondered whether or not that was due to Jean's watchful eye and skill in archery.

As the sun rose over the mountains, Martin realized that sometime during the earliest morning hours, they had passed Bruma. They were making their way up a winding mountain path.

"We are nearly there," Jauffre said, preempting his question. "Just up here. Amelie, you can tell Jean and Anna Marie to stand down, we should have no problem this far up."

Amelie shot off a small bolt of lightning off to both sides. A few moments later, Jean and Anna Marie rode up to them.

"Figured we had to be close," Jean said, looking tired. "Glad of it, too."

"Same," Anna Marie said, yawning. "Riding is fun, but I could do with a nap..."

"How are you holding up, my lord?" Amelie asked, also looking exhausted.

"Well. I think I'll be glad to get inside, too," he said honestly. They dismounted their horses before a great stone gate, walling in a veritable fortress in the mountains. Martin could see someone patrolling at the top of the wall, keeping a watchful eye for whatever the Blades considered enemies.

A fully armored Blade opened the gate to greet them. "Grandmaster, is this...?"

"Yes, Cyrus," Jauffre said wearily, gesturing towards Martin. "This is the Emperor's heir, Martin Septim."

Cyrus, wide-eyed, turned to Martin, and bowed. "My lord, welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Th-The honor is mine," Martin said quickly.

"Come, Martin. Your Blades are waiting to greet you," Jauffre said, leading them up a flight of stone steps.

Cloud Ruler Temple was, it seemed, completely inhabited by men and women in full armor. Martin got the impression that they had been training for just such a time as this.

As they reached the top of the steps, the Blades fell into line, lining the path with heavy silver armor. The three siblings hung back at the head of the stairs as Jauffre led Martin through as the Blades all raised their swords.

"Hail Dragon born, hail Martin Septim, hail!"

For what felt like the first time in years, Martin spoke up, nervously addressing the crowd. "Jauffre, all of you, I know you all expect me to be Emperor. I'll do my best, but this is all new to me." He felt uneasy knots tie in his stomach, looking back at the men and women who served the Empire. Who now served _him_, he supposed. "I'm not used to giving speeches, but I want you to know that I appreciate your welcome here."

Apparently satisfied with this, the Blades dispersed, returning to their duties. Amelie, Jean, and Anna Marie were conversing quietly with each other as they came up the path. Jean spoke tiredly, an uneasy frown on his face. Anna Marie said something with a smile, causing only Amelie's expression to lighten as she responded.

"...we have no time for that now," she said. Jean nodded, arms crossed.

"Not much of a speech, was it?" Martin asked as they approached, feeling somewhat dissatisfied.

"You did wonderfully," Amelie said, smiling wearily.

"I hardly mean to sound ungrateful," Martin said quickly. "I just... this is not what I am used to."

"We get it," Anna Marie said. "Don't worry."

"We've got bigger things to worry about," Jean reminded him.

"I agree. It is imperative that we recover the Amulet of Kings as soon as possible," Martin said.

"This is true," Jauffre said, joining the group. "I have a bit of news in that regard. I feel much safer discussing this sort of thing now that we've arrived here."

"Oh? What?" Jean asked. Amelie smacked his arm with the back of her hand.

"Manners, Jean," she said.

"Now's not the time for that nonsense," Jean sighed, earning himself another whack.

"A Blade by the name of Baurus is in the Imperial City, gathering what information he can about the group responsible for the Emperor's assassination," Jauffre said.

Amelie's eyes lit up. "Baurus. I know Baurus."

"Do you?" Jean asked warily.

"We've met."

"You have? Perhaps we shall send you out to meet with him, then," Jauffre said.

"We'll figure it out," Anna Marie said, stretching. "No worries. For now, though, I think we could all use some rest."

"Before you go off, I have a question for the three of you," Jauffre said quickly. "You have all proven yourselves loyal servants of the Empire, as worthy as any of the Blades to stand by Martin's side during this crisis. As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honored to accept you into our order. Will you join us?"

Amelie looked to Jean, as did Anna Marie. Jean shrugged.

"Why not. Might as well," Jean said.

"All right. Me too," Anna Marie said earnestly.

"I agree," Amelie said. "Though I fear I will not be of much use with a sword."

"Not to worry," Jauffre said. "We are honored to have you just the same."

They made their way into the Great Hall, still conversing.

"I'll go to the Imperial City to meet with Baurus," Amelie said. "What will the two of you do in the meantime?"

"I'll go with you," Jean said immediately.

"Nonsense, Jean, I can handle a trip to the city myself," Amelie protested.

"What if you can't?" Jean asked quietly.

"I think at least one of us needs to stay behind," Amelie said pointedly.

Jean sighed, considering this. "True. Someone should always be here at Cloud Ruler in case something happens."

"There's dozens of Blades here, what could possibly happen?" Anna Marie asked.

"Jauffre is the Grandmaster, and Weynon Priory was raided right in front of him," Jean said. "With the sort of power we're up against, I think the fewer chances we take, the better."

"I have been meaning to go to the City anyway," Amelie said. "Finally, I can stop by the Arcane University."

Jean rolled his eyes at the dreamy look on her face, smiling all the same. "Amelie Rose, we're not out of the woods yet. Please, don't forget we're on a mission here."

Amelie snapped out of her reverie. "I know. I know, I will not forget."

"Can I go with you?" Anna Marie asked. "The Fighters Guild has been needing help lately. I can see what I can do as far as the Imperial City is concerned."

"All right, then," Amelie said. "Jean, will you be all right staying behind?"

"You seem to think I'll be causing trouble," Jean said mischievously. Anna Marie and Amelie both smacked him.

"Be good," Amelie said sternly.

"I will, I will. Relax, go read your books and _study_," Jean said, a note of sarcasm in his voice. Amelie smiled.

"Mission first. Then University."

"As long as you're there... can you let Fathis know where I am?" Jean asked quietly. Amelie frowned. "Dunmer. Elven Gardens."

"Right."

"Just let him know I'm out of commission for a while, he doesn't need to know why."

"I see. Of course."

"All right. Get some rest then. You too," Jean added to Martin as they made their way out.


	4. The Iron Maiden

**The Iron Maiden**

Martin awoke the next morning to see that Jean was alone in the Great Hall, shooting arrows up at the ceiling.

"I cannot imagine that Jauffre will be pleased with you doing that," he said, entering. Jean looked around.

"Yeah, well, Jauffre dropped the ball with the Amulet so I think we're square. Sleep ok?" he asked, putting down the bow.

"As well as can be expected," Martin lied.

"Ok. The girls are on their way to the Imperial City," Jean said. "Left this morning. I told them to send word if they need backup, but for some reason they doesn't think they'll need it."

Martin nodded mutely.

With the stakes as high as they were, the days they spent waiting in the Great Hall of Cloud Ruler Temple felt longer and lonelier than anything he was used to. Martin had trouble adjusting to life in the Temple, where suddenly everyone deferred to him, rather than consulting with him. Being the Emperor was going to be a very different life than being a priest. Even during his youth, answering to higher-ups in the Mages Guild and other endeavors were at least productive.

What was there to do here? Martin occupied himself with books on the rare occasion he felt he could focus. Most of the time, the knots in his stomach kept him awake and made him apprehensive for those around him. Had Kvatch really fallen because of him? Had they all died because of him?

The days had slowly rolled into weeks before they received any news at all.

"Anything?" Jean asked one morning as Jauffre entered the Great Hall with a messenger.

"Nothing too relevant," Jauffre sighed. Jean visibly deflated a little. "Just some news from the Fighters Guild and Mages Guild."

"Oh? Anything about the girls?" Jean asked, getting up.

"I bring some good news," the messenger said. "Anna Marie Azarath has been awarded the title of Master of the Fighters Guild."

Jean nodded. "Bound to happen sooner or later. Good for her."

"As for the Mages Guild, I have worse news. It appears the necromancer Mannimarco, King of Worms, has returned to Cyrodiil," he said. "The Mages Guild is working around the clock to handle the situation before it spirals out of control. That is all I was told."

"Well, damn. That's no good," Jean said, crossing his arms. He sat back down at a table in the Great Hall, across from where Martin was reading.

"Nothing good?" Martin guessed, having only overheard parts of the messenger's announcements.

"Guild stuff. Mages Guild's in a bind, but the Fighter's Guild's in good shape for a change."

"Did I hear tell of necromancy?" Martin asked.

Jean nodded. "But I'm less concerned about the worm king than I am about getting the Amulet back. I think once we can do that, we'll be in good shape."

"I agree."

* * *

More days passed again, nothing of incidence occurring until almost a week after the messenger had come. Anna Marie and a Redguard Blade whom Martin supposed was Baurus returned to the temple.

Jean ran out to greet them, giving Anna Marie a tight hug.

"Hi, Jean!" Anna Marie hugged him tightly as well.

"Um..." Baurus looked confused.

"Brother," Anna Marie said.

"Ah."

"Anna Marie, you had better start explaining!" Jean snapped immediately upon releasing her. "Messenger came and told us the news."

"I was gonna tell you, honest!" Anna Marie insisted. "But I know Amelie was upset with me for going to the Arena at all, and—"

"The Arena?" Martin asked, catching up to the group.

"Well, yes. That's..." She broke off, frowning.

"We had only heard of your promotion to Master of the Fighters Guild."

"What were _you_ talking about?" Jean asked, cautious but curious.

"I killed the Gray Prince," Anna Marie said sheepishly. "In between helping Baurus and the Guild. You know, to blow off steam."

Jean shook his head, looking mildly upset. "Why didn't you tell us you were fighting in the Arena?"

"Amelie would have absolutely died if I told her," Anna Marie pointed out. "And goodness knows what you would have said—"

"I'm telling you right now," Jean said seriously. "If you go do something like that behind my back again, I'm going to be upset. You could have at least waited until we were all free to come and watch you fight."

Anna Marie blushed, smiling. "I know, I know. I AM sorry, Jean. I would have told you."

"No, you wouldn't have," Jean said, clapping her on the back as they entered the Great Hall. "But good for you, all the same."

"Baurus! Good to see you here again." Jauffre approached them, looking concerned. "Any news on the Amulet?"

"Afraid not, sir," Baurus said, speaking up at last. "We got as far as we could before leaving the task with Amelie."

"What do you mean?" They sat down at one of the long wooden tables in the Hall. "Did something go wrong?"

"Not so much _wrong_ as _unplanned,_ sir," Baurus said. "We weren't expecting a wild goose chase after books to be a part of getting the Amulet back."

"Books? Definitely sounds like Amelie's thing," Jean said. "She practically lives in a library. What kind of goose chase are we talking?"

"We had to track down the four volumes of Mythic Dawn books," Anna Marie explained. "We did find them all, that's not the problem."

"The problem was trying to decipher them," Baurus said. "I'm useless at that sort of thing."

"Me too," Anna Marie concurred. "We left the first three books with Amelie while we went searching for the last one. When we found it, she offered to keep working on it if we wanted to head back and make sure you were safe." She nodded to Martin.

"I see."

"I know the Mages Guild is running ragged over Mannimarco, but it's not like Traven can't spare resources," Baurus said.

"How's she doing?" Jean interjected.

"Fine," Anna Marie said, beaming. "A little shaken up, from what I remember. Probably from Mages Guild stuff?"

"Or maybe from whatever is in those books," Martin said, frowning.

"So these books," Jean said. "They're going to lead us to the people who stole the Amulet?"

"Yes. The Mythic Dawn is the cult responsible for the Emperor's death," Baurus explained. "I've been doing research on them, and it looks like they caught on. I'm glad Anna Marie and Amelie were there to bail me out of a tight spot."

Baurus smiled at Anna Marie, who turned pink. "Besides that," Anna Marie added quickly, "Mankar Camoran is supposed to have the Amulet. If Amelie can figure out where he's hiding, she's bound to have it back soon enough."

"I see..."

"We tried to help her decipher what was in the books," Anna Marie said. "But you know me, Jean. No one made any progress except Amelie."

"That doesn't surprise me, no," Jean agreed. "It's probably for the best that she's working on it."

"That's what we thought," Baurus said. "If anyone's gonna figure it out, it'll be her. We figured our talents were better suited here, so we came back. I'm glad we've got the Iron Maiden on our side, though."

Anna Marie grinned widely.

* * *

A few more days passed, waiting for Amelie to return. Cloud Ruler Temple felt fuller and friendlier, now that Anna Marie and Baurus had returned. The pair of them passed the time sparring against each other, while Jean kept a watchful eye from the doors to the Great Hall. Martin tried to busy himself with books, but was too distracted to read. He spent hours on a single page, his thoughts constantly wandering elsewhere. What would happen if the Mythic Dawn advanced too quickly for them to keep up?

Finally, as night fell, a panic surged through the temple.

"Bowmen! To the ramparts!" The cry from outside caught their attention. Baurus immediately got up, hand at his sword.

"What's going on?" he asked a passing watchman.

"The Mythic Dawn has found us," the watchman said, fearful.

Baurus looked back at Anna Marie. "You... do you think they followed us?" he asked fearfully.

"Can't be, we got back days ago," Anna Marie said, running to the edge of the ramparts to see. "And Amelie wouldn't give up Martin's location, I know she wouldn't."

Baurus followed her, Jean and Martin right behind. Fast approaching was a red robed figure, a shield of magicka protecting him.

"Anna Marie, take Martin and get back inside," Jean said, nocking an arrow in his bow. "There's only one of them. We've got this. You go stay safe."

"The Mythic Dawn can only spare _one agent_ to take down Cloud Ruler Temple?" Anna Marie asked, suspicious.

"Get back inside," Baurus said, shepherding Martin and Anna Marie towards the doors. "This isn't safe."

Jean aimed, squinting at the approaching speck of red robes. The figure certainly knew where to go, and was successfully blocking all the arrows the guard were furiously firing, but was not returning fire.

"Hold! HOLD FIRE!" Jean dropped his arrow and sprinted down the stairs leading to the door, bow still in hand. "Open the doors!"

"Jean, have you lost your senses?" Jauffre ran after him, clearly fearing for his safety. "Get back, now!"

"Open the doors," Jean said again, rounding on Jauffre. "That's not an enemy, open the doors!"

"What?"

_"Trust me,"_ Jean implored. "We're safe, get her in here."

Martin cracked open the door to the Great Hall, poking his head out to see. Jean and Anna Marie had both vanished from the ramparts, as had Jauffre. He stepped outside, curious but defensive as he looked down the stairs.

The figure was certainly wearing the hood and robes of the Mythic Dawn, but made no attempt to attack them. She raised her hands submissively, allowing Jean to approach her.

"Amelie, what in Oblivion are you wearing?" Jean asked, unhooding her. She was ashen-faced and frail looking, unable even to force a smile.

"F-Forgive me, for I have failed you."


	5. The Mysterium Xarxes

**The Mysterium Xarxes**

"Amelie?" Martin and Anna Marie came running next, looking terrified. "Amelie Rose!"

"Come on... let's get you inside," Jean said, supporting her up the stairs.

Jauffre signaled for the close of the doors behind them. "All hold your fire!"

"Amelie, what happened?" Martin asked, concerned, trying to read her. "I fear grim news."

"Let me get you some better clothes," Anna Marie said, dashing off into their room.

"You all right, prisoner?" Baurus asked, opening the doors to the Great Hall. He preceded them inside, yanking aside a chair for her.

She stared at him in confusion. "You...?"

"It's me," Baurus said, raising an eyebrow.

Jean bent down. "Blade. Prison escape. Baurus," he whispered. Her face lightened for just a minute. "But that's not important right now," he said, sitting her down. "Start from the beginning, take it slow."

"I... I figured out what the books were hiding," Amelie said, taking a deep breath, forcefully shaking her head to try to clear her mind. "I found the Mythic Dawn shrine, and I got inside."

Martin knelt in front of her, watching her face closely. "What was there?"

"A man named Harrow... he took all my effects, and gave me an initiate's robe," Amelie gasped out.

"Ah. Hence the getup," Baurus murmured. Amelie nodded as Jean got up.

"I'm going to get your stuff back," he told Amelie, laying a reassuring hand on his sister's shoulder. "Don't worry."

"Jean—"

"No buts." Jean left without further word, taking Amelie's map with him.

"So you found the shrine?" Jauffre prompted.

"Y-Yes."

"Was Mankar Camoran there?" Martin asked anxiously.

"I heard his voice, but never got close enough to see his face," Amelie said, taking a deep, steadying breath. "I couldn't get a look at him. I was being herded around with other initiates, and... and there was a man, tied down at the base of a statue," she went on, her brow furrowed. "Argonian. He was meant to be a sacrifice."

Jauffre crossed his arms, frowning hard. "I've never heard of such awful things."

"They asked me to kill him," Amelie said.

"You—"

"I agreed to keep my cover," Amelie continued, "but I... I couldn't kill him."

"No one would have expected you to," Baurus said consolingly.

"I cut him free and we ran for it," Amelie said. "The Mythic Dawn pursued us relentlessly, I had to lose them... before I came back here," Amelie said breathlessly. "I ran circles around them and lost track of the prisoner. I only came back when I was sure they were gone."

Amelie gazed imploringly at Martin, close to tears. She looked lost and disheartened, far from the warm smiles he had seen from give before.

"My lord, please forgive me..."

Martin frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel worse, but... "All is lost, then. The Amulet is gone," he said, struggling to see a bright side.

"Perhaps not. Not entirely, at least." Amelie opened the robes. Nestled between the lining of the robe and her blouse was a strange, evil book. "I managed to grab this book before I left. He called it the Mysterium Xarxes, I thi—"

"BY THE NINE!" Martin shouted, appalled. "That thing is dangerous even to handle!"

His outburst shook Amelie further, nearly causing her to drop the book.

"I... Forgive me," he said quickly. "You were right in bringing it back, but... perhaps you had better give that to me. I am better equipped to handle it than you."

Amelie nodded mutely, handing it off to Martin. As soon as the book left her grasp, she tumbled out of her chair, collapsing in a heap on the floor of the Great Hall.

"Amelie!"

"Those Mythic Dawn bastards are gonna pay," Baurus mumbled angrily, dropping down to get her off the ground. She was out cold. "We'd better keep an eye on her."

Baurus picked her up and carried her back to her room, running into Anna Marie along the way.

"What happened?" Anna Marie squeaked, eyes wide. Baurus led her back to the Azaraths' room, their voices fading as they exited the Great Hall.

Martin stared at the Mysterium Xarxes, angry and confused. If people had died because of him... _more_ people, in any case... he would never forgive himself, let alone the dark forces at work in the Mythic Dawn.

* * *

Jean returned the next morning, to everyone's relief.

"Any trouble from the Mythic Dawn?" Jauffre asked.

"Nothing I can't handle," Jean said, putting his bag down in the Great Hall. "Hey, did Amelie Rose say anything about Archmage Traven going with her?"

Jauffre and Martin frowned. "No. She was alone," Martin said. "Why do you ask?"

Jean opened up his overfull bag, pulling out a set of archmage's robes and Hannibal Traven's staff of lightning. "All of her stuff was there, but these were there too. I can't imagine why Amelie Rose would have Traven's battle gear."

"Hm. Perhaps the Mythic Dawn stole it?" Jauffre suggested blindly. "Whatever the case. We should contact the Arcane University and tell Archmage Traven that his staff is safe with us."

Jauffre sent out a message to be carried from Bruma to the University, but the messenger came back that same evening, looking perplexed.

"Sir, I've received news that Hannibal Traven passed on a little over a week ago," the messenger said. "Amelie Rose Azarath is the new Archmage of Cyrodiil."

Jean leaned back in his chair in the Great Hall, listening intently as Jauffre and the messenger talked. "I didn't think Traven would go so soon... but I never expected Amelie Rose to step up, either."

"I wonder if she got to meet him before he died?" Anna Marie asked. "I hope so..."

"I'm sure she did."

Martin scowled. His time in the Mages Guild had not been pleasant. He'd met Traven only once, and had not been impressed.

"Hannibal Traven was her idol," Jean explained, mistaking Martin's look of displeasure for confusion. "She wanted to go to the Arcane University to study under him, especially after he took such a strong stance against necromancy."

"Excuse me, sire. May I speak with you, Jean Christophe?" Jauffre asked as the messenger left. Jean got up, conferring with Jauffre outside the doors.

"Wonder what Jauffre needs?" Anna Marie asked good-naturedly, sneaking a peek at the Mysterium Xarxes. Martin closed the book, scooting it away from her.

"Anna Marie. The Mysterium Xarxes is a dangerous artifact," Martin told her. "I would rather you not get hurt because of it."

"And I would rather you not die from reading it all day," Anna Marie countered. "If the book is so dangerous, why are you studying it so hard?"

"We need to find a way to get to Camoran's Paradise and recover the Amulet of Kings," Martin explained. "If this book will help us get there, so much the better."

"What if the book has nothing to do with Camoran's Paradise?" Anna Marie asked.

"I assure you, it does."

"Prove it," Anna Marie said, reaching for the book. "Let me see where it says that."

"Anna Marie, please. No," Martin said, keeping the book out of her reach.

"Play nice," Jean reprimanded, reentering the Great Hall. "Anna Marie, be good. I'm going out. You're in charge of guarding Martin until I get back or until Amelie Rose gets well."

"Ok, but Martin has to show me the book, right?" Anna Marie asked.

"Really, he doesn't have to do a damned thing," Jean said, picking up his bag. "He's the Emperor and you're going to treat him as such. Stop bothering him."

Anna Marie crossed her arms with a good-natured sigh. "Fine."

Martin glared down at the pages of the book, wondering if becoming the Emperor would repair all the damage it had caused.


	6. Anna Marie's Departure

**Anna Marie's Departure**

Martin made very little progress on the Mysterium Xarxes in the following days. It was hard enough, trying to decipher the foreign lexicon the book was written in, but made even more difficult with Anna Marie's unfailingly optimistic, curious presence.

"Are you reading it right?" Anna Marie asked one day. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Anna Marie. Please, a little peace."

"But when I read books, I never stay on one page all day," Anna Marie pointed out. "Are you a slow reader?"

"Perhaps I am. Anna Marie, I really must work on this," Martin said.

Anna Marie punched his shoulder, nearly knocking him off his chair. "I'm only joking," she said.

"Please, Anna Marie." Martin rubbed his aching shoulder, wondering how he would feel if she had been wearing gauntlets.

Anna Marie frowned. "Fine. I have to go check on Amelie."

"You can stay with her, if you like," Martin said.

"Nah," Anna Marie said, getting up and stretching. "She'll be all right. I just want to say hi."

Anna Marie's unwavering optimism managed to grate on Martin's nerves as time passed with her at his side. She was constantly trying to read over his shoulder and offering to fetch him things from around the temple. Martin got the feeling that she did so only to avoid sitting still.

After the third day of Jean's "mission," Anna Marie had finally had enough.

"Put that down," Anna Marie said, pointing to the Mysterium Xarxes.

"Anna Marie—"

"We are going for a walk," she declared, getting to her feet. She crossed her arms, staring authoritatively down at him. "You do nothing but read that same page all day. You need fresh air and sunshine."

Martin sighed. Maybe Anna Marie was right. He wasn't making much progress, perhaps a break would refresh his mind.

"All right. All right, a walk."

"Yes!" Anna Marie held open the doors, basking in the midmorning sun. "Pretty day, hm?"

"Perfect for a walk," Martin agreed, letting her take the lead as they walked around the ramparts of the temple. Working off her pent-up energy, Anna Marie did a cartwheel in the open space. Her armor clunked unpleasantly, the weight of it nearly sending her over the wall.

"AH!" She caught herself just in time, regaining her balance.

"Are you—"

"Fine," Anna Marie assured him, beaming brightly. Martin wondered whether she truly understood how far the drop was.

They walked in silence for awhile. The air was chill and a little snow was beginning to fall, but it was definitely a pleasant change from being inside the Great Hall all day.

"Where did you live before Kvatch?" Anna Marie asked suddenly.

"Hm?" Martin blinked, caught off-guard. "Er. Nowhere. I believed I had been born there."

"Oh."

"What about you?" Martin asked politely. "Amelie told me you live on the coast?"

"Yeah, Anvil. We used to live on the bay," Anna Marie said.

"Niben Bay? Bravil?"

"Not _in_ Bravil, but near thereabouts," she said. "The Anvil house is still pretty new, to us at least."

"Is it nice?"

"Yes!" Anna Marie said, enthusiastic. "There's vines of _beautiful _flowers on the walls that bring in butterflies sometimes, and it's right down the street from the big selkie statue and across from the chapel of Mara."

"It sounds lovely."

"It is. Amelie picked it out. Jean wanted to move to the Imperial City," Anna Marie said. "But there's nowhere to live in the City. Anvil's nicer, anyway."

Anna Marie went on at length about her experiences traveling from Anvil to the Imperial City and back again and how it compared to traveling from Bravil to the City, and Martin stopped really listening. Anna Marie could certainly talk, and always so cheerily.

"I wish we had horses," she said. "Jean used to have one, but it didn't like me or Amelie."

She fell silent. Martin hesitated, sensing a dip in her mood. "Amelie will wake up soon. I am certain of it," he said.

"Oh, I know." Anna Marie nodded. Without warning, she threw an arm around Martin's shoulders. "You know," she said, squeezing him tightly, "I'm glad it's you. I don't think anyone else would be this good at becoming Emperor."

Touched and feeling slightly smothered, Martin smiled at her, patting her hand. "Thank you, Anna Marie."

Just as suddenly, Anna Marie released him, and returned to walking along the edge of the ramparts.

"What was your family like?" Martin asked, curious. Anna Marie frowned.

"Happy times, I think. It's hard to remember. I think if you want a real answer, Jean is the person to ask," she said, her cheery demeanor returning quickly. "I was young when they left, I can hardly remember them at all."

"Oh... I apologize."

"But Amelie and Jean have always been there for me," Anna Marie said pleasantly. "And I think that matters the most."

"I agree. There is no substitute for a loving family," Martin said.

* * *

Jean returned for a few hours the next day, conferring with Jauffre before heading straight back out. Martin overheard their conversation as the temple prepared for bed.

"...any trouble?" Jauffre asked.

"None," Jean relayed. "None of them recognize me."

"Good. That puts my mind a little more at rest," Jauffre said.

"But. If Amelie Rose steps back out," Jean said, "I think they'll attack her on sight, no matter where they are. Call it a hunch, I can't be sure. But I get the impression they know who she is, and won't hesitate to kill her given the chance."

"I think you may be right," Jauffre said pensively.

"How... how is she, by the way?" Jean asked nervously.

"Still hasn't woken up," Jauffre said. "I'm beginning to wonder if sending for an Imperial City healer may be necessary, risky move though it is."

"If it's risky, don't do it," Jean said, picking up his bag and preparing to head back out. "We're not even sure she'll wake up, there's no need to put Martin in any danger."

"Take care of the final spy, and we can consider other options, then," Jauffre said. "Be careful."

"I know."

* * *

It was a few days later that Jean returned with news of the remaining spies' deaths. He promptly left again to take care of some "guild things" that he refused to elaborate upon. Anna Marie, by now going a little stir-crazy, stayed behind with Martin and a still-unconscious Amelie. Somehow, during the course of all this, Martin managed to get a handle on the Mysterium Xarxes.

"Did you work it out?" Anna Marie asked curiously, trying to sneak a peek at the book.

"I think I have a better idea about how to read this now, yes," he affirmed, scooting the book away from her (as was now a common occurrence). He felt around the desk for a piece of paper and something to write with, his eyes still trained on the passage he was reading.

"Great! Can I help?"

"No, Anna Marie, we have been through this," Martin repeated. "This is dangerous."

"How dangerous can a book be?" Anna Marie asked, trying to peek over his shoulder. Martin slapped a piece of paper on top of the pages, obstructing the contents.

"You would be surprised," he said. "Please, Anna Marie, stop it."

Anna Marie pouted for a few minutes before deciding to go outside and spar with Baurus. Relieved, Martin returned his attention to the book.

It was a little less slow going than it had been before the breakthrough, but was no easier. Worry for the three siblings entrusted with his safety kept seeping into his mind. Finally, suitably distracted enough, he got up, closed the book, and went to see Amelie.

Running around with neither food nor sleep was bad enough, he thought, but she had done it all while in possession of the Mysterium Xarxes. There was very little way of knowing what could happen to her.

She was still out cold, occasionally trembling as though freezing or trapped in a nightmare. Martin flicked his fingers at the fireplace, feeling guilty and upset as it burst to life. If Anna Marie and Jean lost their sister because of him...

There was a chair next to Amelie's bed. He supposed Anna Marie sat there when she came to be with Amelie. Martin scootched it closer to her bed, laying the Mysterium Xarxes on his lap. Amelie did not seem to hear him, instead sinking deeper into whatever madness now possessed her.

Martin cautiously reached out and gently touched her hand.

"I..." He fell silent. This felt strange. "I'm sorry, Amelie," he said, feeling as though he had to say _something_. What did it matter, though, if she could not hear him?

He fussed with the Mysterium Xarxes on his lap, opening it to his marked page. What a wretched thing... but if it was the key to getting the Amulet of Kings back, it could only do them good. Hopefully, he could work faster than the Mythic Dawn. Hopefully, he could learn its secrets without succumbing to them. Hopefully...

Martin saw Amelie stir out of the corner of his eye.

"Amelie?"

Her eyes opened at last. Blinking in confusion, she struggled to sit up, pulling her hand away from him.

"Amelie Rose, do not strain yourself," Martin said, closing the book.

"Where am—"

"Are you—"

"Who is—"

"Relax," he said, leaning forward to look at her. She was frustrated and disoriented, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to think. "You're safe here."

"I—" She searched his face, confused and... was that fear in her eyes? "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's me," he said.

This meant nothing to her.

"Martin," he added.

A look of realization came over her face, quickly followed by one of shame. "My lord, I'm sorry," she said, falling back into bed and swallowing hard.

Martin frowned. "I wish you would not call me that, Amelie."

"I only wanted to—"

"I am your friend, not your lord," he told her. "Not yet, in any case."

Amelie sat up, and nodded. "Martin, then."

"Thank you."

They fell silent. Martin watched her gaze wander as she lost herself in a muddle of memories.

"Amelie?"

"Hm?" She snapped back to attention. "What happened? Why am I here?"

"You passed out after you returned with the Mysterium Xarxes," Martin reminded her. "We have been worried for you."

"I apologize," Amelie said, gingerly stretching out her arms. "It was not my intention to worry you."

"I know. Right now, I am just glad you are safe and unharmed," Martin said, smiling.

"Thank you."

* * *

Amelie began reinserting herself into life at Cloud Ruler Temple the next day. Anna Marie was overjoyed that Amelie was awake, as were the rest of the Blades.

"Glad to have you back, prisoner," Baurus said one morning over breakfast.

_Baurus,_ Anna Marie mouthed at her from across the table. Amelie looked up, beaming brightly at him. "Baurus and I have a lot to catch you up on until Jean gets back," she said aloud.

"Where is Jean at present?" Amelie asked curiously.

"Guild stuff."

"Ah."

"So anyway, you will _never_ guess what I did, Amelie," Anna Marie said excitedly, launching into her epic tale of mastering the Fighters Guild and defeating the Gray Prince. Amelie's expression read as a cross between concerned and pleased as she listened to her sister wax poetic about her bloody exploits.

"Baurus?" Martin asked.

"Hm? Yes, Martin?"

"Why do you call Amelie _prisoner?"_ he asked. Baurus laughed.

"She never told you how we met? You should ask her for the story sometime," Baurus said, grinning. "I'm sure she can tell it better than I can."

"I will."

* * *

With Anna Marie monopolizing most of Amelie's time, Martin did not have a chance to ask Amelie anything until later that night. Having retreated to his room in search of some peace and quiet, Martin poked his head out into the hall, intending to retrieve a few books he had left on the table. It was later than he thought, the Great Hall was quiet. As he walked in, he realized that it was quiet, but not empty.

Amelie was sitting at a table, hunched over some new experiment. She poked something in a calcinator with her calipers, watching closely. It bubbled angrily, changing colors from a bright, friendly green to sickly purple.

"Amelie, what are you doing?" he asked. She jumped, nearly knocking over her experiment.

"M-Martin!"

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, I—"

"I hardly meant to startle you," he said.

"No, no, it's all right." She sat down at the table, clapping the lid on top of her bubbling fluid so that it would not spill. "What are you still doing up?" she asked.

"I left a few books here when I went to my room," Martin explained, searching around his own table. Ah—_Modern Heretics._ "Anna Marie is a little too loud to do research around."

"I know the feeling," Amelie said sympathetically. "I'm sorry you had to endure her all on your own."

"Why are you still awake?" Martin asked, finding his books.

"Oh, I... just wanted to do some work," Amelie said, sounding a little embarrassed.

"I see." He frowned all the same; sometimes he wondered how Amelie could stay lucid enough to do her work and still forget names and faces.

Amelie smiled wryly at him. "You think me mad?" she asked.

"What—"

She invited him to sit down. "I know that look. I get it a lot."

"I just." He paused, wondering if there was a polite way to express his concerns. "You seem to have trouble with things."

"Only some things," she said. It was not defensive, just a statement of fact. "But trust me. My research is sound." She nodded to her own pile of books and alchemy equipment. "Working keeps me calm. Working is dealing in facts, and facts keep me grounded."

"You didn't recognize me," he said. "Or Baurus."

She bit her lip, clearly hoping to have avoided this conversation. Or, at least, had Jean to back her up. "I've... come to accept that I will have trouble with things like that, possibly for as long as I live," she said. "I try not to let it bother me."

There was nothing more to be gained from pursuing this with her, he sensed. Perhaps some people just had trouble with some things? "May I ask you something else?" he asked, glad to have a chance to speak with her.

"Of course?"

"I asked Baurus why he calls you _prisoner,"_ Martin said. "He told me to ask you for the story. If you...?"

She glared at him. "Sometimes I have trouble remembering. That does not make me stupid. Do not patronize me so."

"I-I did _not_ mean to imply—"

Amelie laughed, loosening. "It's quite the story, how I met Baurus. I was in the Imperial City prison."

"On a visit?" Martin asked.

"Oh, no. I was in a cell."

"What for?" Martin demanded, appalled. She shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as anyone's," she said. "No one ever told me what I was in prison for."

Martin frowned. "I suppose you can remember nothing."

"I cannot recall much from before being in prison," Amelie said. "What little I do recall is thanks to my rigorous journal keeping and to Jean and Anna Marie. Even they have no idea how it happened." She shrugged. "Your father believed I was placed in that cell by the gods so that we could meet."

"The Emperor was in prison as well?" Martin asked, now thoroughly confused.

"No. The Blades were leading him out of the castle through a secret escape route. That route led from my cell down into the castle subterrane, and out through the Imperial City underground sewer network. Because I could not recall my own name, the Emperor and the Blades all called me _prisoner,"_ Amelie explained.

"I see."

"I spoke with your father at the end of the subterrane," she went on, "where he gave me the Amulet before the Mythic Dawn ambushed us and killed him. From there, Baurus gave me a key to get out of the subterrane, and once outside, I was ambushed again."

"Mythic Dawn?"

"Bandits," Amelie said flatly. "Fortunately for me, Jean and Anna Marie were in the area, searching for me. They saved my life, and from there, we went to Anvil, and from Anvil to Kvatch. And I believe you're familiar with the rest," she said.

"I am indeed."

Amelie looked at the books in Martin's hands. "Surely you don't intend to keep working this late at night?" she said.

"Likely not," Martin agreed, looking out the window. It was pitch dark outside. "A good night's sleep will do us _both_ good, I think."

Amelie nodded reluctantly. "I suppose I agree."

* * *

"Can't Jean do it?" Anna Marie asked the next morning, yawning.

"No, Jean is away," Amelie said. "Guild things."

"Right. What do you need, Martin?"

The two girls approached him in the Great Hall, Anna Marie plopping down across from Martin at the table. Martin had recently deciphered the first item they needed to get to Camoran's Paradise, and was anxious to get started.

"I need a Daedric artifact," Martin said. "Anything will do, as long as it is of Daedric origin."

"Excellent. Where do I start?" Anna Marie asked. Amelie sat down beside her sister, borrowing Anna Marie's map of Cyrodiil and Martin's copy of Modern Heretics.

"You should start by visiting Daedric shrines," Amelie said. "Ask around, see what you can learn."

"Ok."

"But you _must not_ get mixed up in Daedric Prince worship," Amelie warned her sternly. "That is a dangerous road to tread, you understand?"

"I know, I know," Anna Marie said. "Mother Mara Mild and all that."

"All right... here, there is the shrine to Sheogorath, keep away from there... shrine of Azura... something to Mehrunes Dagon, stay away from that too... and here is..."

Amelie flipped through Modern Heretics, marking as many shrines as she could find on Anna Marie's map.

"That should be fine, Amelie," Anna Marie said. "I should be able to find something with that many to go off of."

"Are you quite certain?" Amelie asked worriedly.

"Yes! You worry too much, Amelie Rose," Anna Marie said.

"Perhaps I should go instead," Amelie said, crossing her arms and poring over the map.

"Stop being silly, Amelie," Anna Marie said, taking the map back. "I can do it. Martin needs you here."

"You are hardly in any condition to be traveling, Amelie," Martin added seriously. "It would be best if you stayed at Cloud Ruler Temple and rested, at least until Jean returns."

"I can do it," Anna Marie assured her, tucking away the map and giving her sister a tight hug. "I'll get started first thing tomorrow morning."


	7. The Will of the Stars

**The Will of the Stars**

Anna Marie set off the next morning, leaving a preoccupied Martin and a worried Amelie behind at Cloud Ruler Temple.

"Did Jean give any indication of when he was coming back?" Amelie asked, a familiar tone of disquiet in her voice.

"Not that I am aware of," Martin said, turning a page. "I imagine he'll be back soon."

Amelie was a much better companion than Anna Marie was, if only for the sole reason that Amelie was content to quietly read a book or work on something of her own while Martin worked. But as the days passed, Amelie too grew restless.

"Martin, are you sure I cannot help you?" Amelie asked, concerned. Martin shook his head.

"I would rather this book not harm you any further," Martin said. Amelie sighed, nodding.

"I expected as much," she said. "Excuse me."

She withdrew to her room for a moment, returning to the Great Hall with various alchemical appliances and a strange new object to study.

"What... Amelie, what _is_ that?" Martin asked, peering curiously at the green powdery substance Amelie had brought in.

"It's a potent poison, with hallucinogenic properties," she said. "Greenmote. I've been studying it, but I fear it's been rather slow going."

"For the Mages Guild?" Martin guessed.

"No. Just for me," she said, shrugging.

"We heard tell that you became the Archmage after the passing of Hannibal Traven," Martin said, suddenly remembering. "I've been meaning to ask. How did that come to be?"

Amelie frowned, covering the calcinator of greenmote.

"It... is a rather long and uninteresting story," she said carefully.

"Something tells me this long, uninteresting story is important," Martin said.

Amelie sighed. "I suppose it is."

"What happened?"

"Archmage Traven did not _pass on,"_ Amelie said. "He... I—really, what happened was, I was there when he committed suicide."

"What—"

"He told me to seek out the King of Worms, and defeat him," Amelie said quickly. "To ensure I would not become one of Mannimarco's puppets, Archmage Traven soul-trapped himself in a black soul gem, and entrusted me with it. Mannimarco was after Archmage Traven's soul, and armed with it, Mannimarco would not be able to harm me." Amelie sighed, a half-smile on her face. "I was simply doing the right thing, I had no desire to become Archmage. I would have preferred it if the archmagister had lived."

"I understand you greatly admired him," Martin said consolingly, though he could not understand what in the world she saw in him. Amelie nodded.

"I did. I still do, even in death. And, given the chance, I will maintain his firm stance against necromancy and practice of the dark magicka arts," Amelie said. "I... I have a duty to my guild, now."

Martin watched her get lost in her thoughts again, her hand at her chin as she stared into space. He tapped the table in front of her, bringing her back.

"Amelie."

"Hm?" She started, shaking her head, returning her attention to him. "Yes, sorry."

"You are more dedicated a wizard than I," he told her. "I made it only as far as apprenticeship before leaving the guild."

She pulled a face. "You _left?"_

"I did. I'm sorry, Archmage."

Amelie shook her head at him. "You throw fire like a master and I cannot even call you one of my own? You wound me, Martin."

He laughed. "I _am_ sorry. But I don't think an Emperor will have much time to change that."

Amelie heaved an overly dramatic sigh, eliciting another laugh from Martin. "Fine, then."

* * *

"Martin?"

"Hm? Yes?" Martin asked, absorbed in the Mysterium Xarxes.

"We should take a walk," Amelie said, getting up. "You have done nothing but pore over that evil book, I worry for you."

"Amelie, it's nearly sunset," Martin pointed out. "We would be losing daylight."

"Then we shall look at the stars," Amelie said decisively, crossing her arms. "Now, come on. You _must_ take it easy now and again."

Martin, reluctant, closed the book and got up to follow Amelie to the doors. "Anna Marie said something to the same effect a while ago," he told Amelie. "I assure you, I won't work myself to death."

"I want to be sure," Amelie said simply, holding the door open.

Martin and Amelie walked around the ramparts, the setting sun dyeing the skies a deep purple.

"...hear about what happened at Castle Leyawiin?" they overheard a guard say. "They say a mysterious stranger snuck into the Countess's dinner party and a pulled a prank."

"Were they caught?"

"No, but the Countess was furious, she..."

"What, Amelie?" Martin asked. Her eyes had narrowed as the guard spoke.

"Anna Marie had better have nothing to do with that," Amelie remarked disapprovingly. Martin laughed.

"Who must take it easy, now, you or I?" he asked. Amelie smiled, crossing her arms.

"Watching after Anna Marie is a full time job," she remarked. "Taking it easy often means later going on a wild goose chase to find her with a black eye in some street brawl."

"Anna Marie is certainly a handful," Martin agreed. "But she has a good heart."

"I know," Amelie said. "I just wish sometimes she would express herself without her fists."

Amelie sat down on the stone tower to the east of the great doors. "I find this to be an excellent spot for stargazing."

"Do you?" Martin joined her, gazing upwards.

"Yes. See? The Serpent. Last week, he was much farther west," Amelie remarked, pointing out the constellation.

"I have always found the Serpent difficult to track," Martin admitted.

"As have I. Look! There. The Warrior." She pointed out another cluster of stars. "Anna Marie's birthsign."

"I can see that."

"I find most birthsigns to be remarkably fitting," Amelie added, leaning back to search for more.

"What is yours?" Martin asked.

"Mine? I was born under the Lady."

Martin beamed at her. "That does fit you well. You are a kind and tolerant soul, my friend."

"And yours?"

"The Lord," he said. Amelie promptly gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. _"Ah!"_

Thankfully, she was nowhere near as forceful as Anna Marie. "Yes. Strong and healthy," Amelie remarked, smiling. "There is the Thief, Jean's sign."

"Jean the lucky risk taker?" Martin asked. "I somehow cannot see Jean taking risks, he strikes me as too paranoid ever to gamble."

Amelie frowned. "His sign is fitting in a different way."

"How so?"

Amelie looked troubled. "Martin, you must not tell anyone."

"Is there something the matter with Jean?"

"In a way." She paused, hesitant to spit it out. "Jean possesses the gray Cowl of Nocturnal."

"The... the gray cowl, the Gray Fox," Martin recalled. "He is the Gray Fox?"

"I don't pretend to like it, either," Amelie said quickly, "but... the more factions we have on our side, so much the better, I think. Between the three of us, we have the greater part of Cyrodiil at our backs, and—"

"I find it hard to believe that Jean is over three hundred years old," Martin interjected skeptically.

"He is one of a line of inheritors of the cowl," she explained. "Somehow, he got involved in the Thieves Guild, and has kept at it to reach the top."

Martin paused, thoughtful. "So when Jean is away doing _something important_ for _guild stuff,_ he is..."

"Working with thieves," Amelie said. "I never imagined him as a common pickpocket, but I suppose that's what it boils down to."

"It is rather hard to imagine."

"Having Anna Marie constantly fighting was tough enough," Amelie said. "It has been better since she joined the Fighters Guild and the Arena, though I cannot say I like those prospects either."

"Have you no faith in her, Amelie?" Martin asked. "Anna Marie is a strong woman, I do not find it at all surprising that she has progressed so far."

"I know." Amelie scooted forward a little, swinging her legs off the side of the tower. "I _am_ proud of her, and handful though she is, I'm glad we need not worry about her being hurt."

"Or being sent to jail," Martin added, joining her near the edge. Amelie sighed.

"Jean, on the other hand..."

Martin frowned. "Has he been to prison?"

"No, not yet. That I know of," she added. "He has made truly impressive amounts of bounty vanish before, though. I find it interesting that he purported to have joined the Thieves Guild to make money, when all he seems to be spending it on is _remaining_ in the Thieves Guild."

"I think attempting to fathom what goes on in Jean's mind is a task too great for the both of us," Martin concluded. Amelie laughed.

"Perhaps you are right."

"Ah! Look, there."

"The sign of the Lover." Amelie gazed at it thoughtfully. "I wonder if it's true, that those born under the Lover can paralyze others with a kiss."

Martin pondered this for a moment. "I have _never_ heard of that."

"Does it not seem a little silly, to go around kissing all your opponents?" Amelie asked, beginning to laugh.

"I cannot imagine it would be very practical," Martin agreed, laughing. "Or a remotely good idea at all."

They laughed, returning to the Great Hall at last. Martin was glad he had taken the break.

* * *

The days passed, uneventful. Amelie continued her studies of mysterious things, and Martin kept on with his work on the Mysterium Xarxes. Their time was mostly quiet, save for once when an experiment of Amelie's exploded with a bang that drew the attention of half the temple. She insisted it was harmless and contained the damage only to her (now scorch-marked) table, and went on with her experimenting.

It was almost a week after Anna Marie had left that Jean returned, just as the sun was setting on another quiet day.

"Hey prisoner," Baurus said, peering cautiously over her shoulder as she studied something she called felldew. Her focus did not break as she took notes.

"Hello, Baurus."

"Do me a favor and don't blow that up."

The corners of Amelie's mouth twitched. "I'll resist the temptation."

"Jean's been sighted coming up the mountain."

"Has he?" Amelie asked, upending her retort onto a silver plate. The felldew solution inside bubbled merrily. "At last."

"Come on, let's go meet him at the gate," Baurus suggested. "Martin, I'm sure he'd love to see you too."

They got up, following Baurus to the doors of the Great Hall. Amelie leaned off the edge of the ramparts, trying to see Jean.

"Is he close?" Martin asked.

"I can barely see him," Amelie said, straining her eyes. "He appears to be carrying..." She broke off.

"Has he found treasure?" Martin asked. A laugh caught in her throat, turning to a panicked cry as the smile slid off her face. "Amelie? AMELIE!"

Amelie dove off the tower ramparts, her rough landing necessitating a roll in the snow to save herself from injury. She ran off in Jean's direction, they met up a few yards away. Martin squinted at the pair of them, trying to see.

Jean was carrying a body.

"Oh, no." Baurus turned to join them, Jauffre had run down to meet Jean as well. Amelie had fallen to her knees.

"What...?"

Martin and Baurus ran to investigate as well. As they drew nearer, Martin recognized who Jean was carrying.

"I found her outside of Bruma," Jean explained hoarsely. "There's a new Oblivion Gate just outside the city walls. Th-The daedra must've..."

"Anna Marie..." Amelie broke off, tears streaming down her face.

"That Gate can't stay open, we've gotta do something," Jean said, his voice breaking.

"I know," Jauffre said, looking overwhelmed. "All right. All right, Amelie, Jean..."

Neither of them looked at Jauffre as he spoke. Anna Marie's peaceful, almost asleep expression took precedence.

"We would be honored to have a Knight Sister such as Anna Marie laid to rest at Cloud Ruler Temple," Jauffre finished. Amelie nodded mutely, gently stroking Anna Marie's hair.

Martin followed as Amelie and Jean brought Anna Marie's body back into Cloud Ruler. The troops quickly grew somber at the sight. The daedra had taken down Anna Marie Azarath, Heroine of Kvatch and the Iron Maiden herself. What chance did they have now?


	8. The Sanguine Rose

**The Sanguine Rose**

"Hey, Martin." Jean spoke, having laid Anna Marie aside outside the Temple. They would bury her once the Gate was gone.

Martin tore his eyes away from Anna Marie. She had been so lively and joyful and... and _moving_. To see her so still was tragic, disconcerting, unnatural. She should have been alive. She should not have died.

"Yes?" he said, turning to look at Jean. Jean was tired and worn-out, bearing fresh scars on his face that had not been there before.

"I found this thing next to... next to Anna Marie. Anything important?"

Martin paled at the staff Jean held out.

The Sanguine Rose.

Memories raced back, blurry and drunken, flooding him with the sights and sounds of clinking bottles and chattering women. The time spent with his companions, joined by a veneration for the Prince of Indulgence, had been whirlwind and headstrong, and ended in tragedy.

"Yes. Yes, this is the Sanguine Rose," he said quietly. "Anna Marie was retrieving a Daedric artifact for me, and this..."

"Can you use it?" Amelie asked.

"Yes, of course... I never thought to see this again."

_"Again?"_ asked Jean.

Martin's heart sank. "I once possessed it, briefly. A lifetime ago, it seems now," he said. "But... never mind. Are you sure you wish to give it up? It will be consumed by the ritual."

"Yes," Jean and Amelie said together.

"I want nothing to do with the wretched thing," Amelie added, her voice shaking.

Nor did he. "I... I understand."

Martin took the Rose from Jean, guilty. Had acquiring the Sanguine Rose cost Anna Marie her life? Or had it been the daedra now attempting to make their way into Bruma, to find him? Whatever the reason, Anna Marie was dead, for his sake and safety. It seemed whenever this thing—this blasted, hateful, _evil_ thing—was involved, whenever he was around it, people died.

Whenever he was around, people died.

"All right. Anyone else coming?" Jean asked, leading the way back into the Great Hall. He picked a handful of potions off Amelie's table before blazing a trail down the hall towards their sleeping quarters. "That Gate isn't going to close itself."

"The Bruma guard is planning to send a contingent of men in to close the gate," Jauffre said. "I'm sure they would appreciate assistance."

"We're ready to go," Amelie said, securing her staff at her back.

_"Bag,"_ Jean called, grabbing another quiver of arrows off a weapon rack in their room.

Amelie blinked, and nodded, picking up a ready-packed bag of alchemical potions she kept prepared for just such an occasion. "Right. Thank you."

"The sooner, the better, I think," Jauffre said. "They will surely sympathize if the two of you would prefer to stay...?"

"No. No, we'll go," Jean said, reappearing in the hallway. He slung his quiver over his shoulder, his knife in hand. "The world isn't going to stop for us. We've gotta deal with this before it gets out of hand again and someone else dies."

"I understand. The Bruma guard will be assembling outside the south gates," Jauffre said. "Be careful."

"Amelie, wait." Martin stopped her as she began to leave, checking her bag one last time to ensure she had everything necessary.

"We have no time to wait," Amelie said dryly, closing the bag again.

"Are you certain you can handle this?" he asked. "I... I fear that you may not be strong enough yet, and if you—"

"I am perfectly healthy," Amelie insisted, motioning to Jean. "As jaded as it may sound, Oblivion Gates are nothing new. Jean," she added as he made to leave. "Did you want to change?"

"Oh. OH, oh yeah. Good plan... nearly forgot," Jean said absently, the pair of them turning to reenter their room. "I'd prefer not to get caught in Oblivion wearing armor."

"Amelie, please reconsider!" Martin pleaded. Amelie remained resolute.

"The Bruma guard will be accompanying us," she said. "Jean and I will be fine. You need not worry, focus your attentions elsewhere."

"Gods be damned... _I will not let you go to your death!" _Martin shouted, blocking her path to the sleeping quarters.

Amelie stopped, shocked. Jean hung back, arms crossed, but stayed silent. "Martin, I cannot stay when there is Gate open, how can you—"

"I _will not_ let you leave Cloud Ruler Temple, Amelie Rose," Martin said firmly.

She looked as though she might slap him. "Do not ask me to sit idly by while others go blindly into a danger I know well!" Amelie snapped back.

"She's coming with me," Jean said seriously, stepping forward at last to place himself between Martin and Amelie. "If you have a problem with that, you take it up with her!" He cast a pointed look at Anna Marie's body.

"What if you end up beside her?" Martin demand. "What then?"

"Then I go gladly!" Amelie retorted.

Silence fell.

"Amelie," Baurus said, gently intervening. "Why don't you stay here? I can go in your place."

Amelie, still watching Martin, shook her head. "No. I want to stay with Jean. I want to stay with Jean and ensure that no one else is killed by this Gate, surely you can understand that."

Baurus paused.

"Going where I am needed is a better plan than staying where I am superfluous," Amelie pointed out. "Martin will be safe here, with or without me, but the longer that Gate stays, the less safe this place becomes."

Baurus sighed. "She has a point, Martin."

"But—"

"I am going with Jean to close the Gate," Amelie said, gently pushing past him as she and Jean went to to change clothes. "Baurus will keep you safe."

Defeated, Martin sank down at his table as they finished their preparations.

They saw Jean and Amelie off from the stone ramparts. The pair of them appeared mad, walking off in the dark clad in light clothes better suited for the warm south. Only Jean had any sort of armor, and it was a _rare_ occasion that Amelie was seen in breeches rather than a dress. Martin watched them until they disappeared into the darkness swallowing the mountains. Far into the distance shone the towering Gate, staining the cloudy skies above Bruma a dark, fearful red.

Those left at Cloud Ruler Temple fell into an uneasy sleep, the joy gone from the temple. Martin himself was plagued with insomniac worry. With Anna Marie's death as a precedent, everything else about the path to reclaiming the Amulet of Kings, and the Empire by extension, suddenly seemed daunting and insurmountable. Again and again, his mind was plagued with the ultimate question.

What if they did not succeed?

* * *

Waiting for news the following day was excruciating, made all the worse when no news came. They went about their daily tasks, any attempts at work thwarted by the heaviness of their worry.

Martin had set the Sanguine Rose on his work table, both unable to look at it and unwilling to let it out of his sight. He constructed a small fort out of his books to block it from view, before sighing and tearing it back down. How ridiculous, building a wall of knowledge to keep out what he already knew.

He stared it down, resting his chin on the table, glowering angrily at its wooden petals and thorns. How had he lost it? He remembered it as a conscious decision, vowing on the souls of his friends never to touch such a thing again.

So much for that.

The memories he had run from had caught up and brought new disasters with them. Was there no escaping it? He had turned from Sanguine and towards Akatosh, away from daedra and into the fold of the Nine, selfishly hoping for salvation and peace of mind. Was it the right decision? Did it matter in the end?

Martin glared at the Rose, trying to muster the will to continue working. The rest of Cloud Ruler Temple went about its duties mechanically, still waiting to hear any news at all from the corps closing the Gate.

As much as Martin assured himself that Amelie and Jean would return, that they would be fine, that they would live, another image of the dremora, the xivilai, the horrors that had come pouring out of the gate assaulted his mind. It would have been one thing if he'd had no idea what the Gates held, but he did. He had seen it, had seen his city torn apart and broken open and left forsaken.

Because of him.

He stared at the pages of the Mysterium Xarxes, unable to focus for all the possibilities swirling around his mind. Would they be burnt alive? Could they be captured by the daedra and held? What if they were lost in the Gate forever?

At last, a few hours into the afternoon, a messenger sprinted up the mountain. Jauffre and Martin met him at the top of the stairs, apprehensive.

"Sirs! The Gate is closed!"

A cheer went up around the temple.

"Casualties?" Jauffre asked, concerned.

"I believe they were all injured somewhat, sir, but only two deaths."

Martin's heart plummeted. "Who?" he asked.

"Two Bruma guards, Carius Runellius and Gerich Senarel. Everyone else is receiving care at the Chapel before returning to their duties. Archmage Azarath wanted me to inform you that she and her brother are staying in town for the night."

"I see. Thank you," Jauffre said, looking somewhat relieved.

"Yes, sir."

The messenger rode back towards Bruma, both relief and dread washing over Martin. They had lived, they had escaped... but how narrowly?


	9. A Frank Discussion

**A Frank Discussion**

"Thanks."

Jean closed the door behind him, nodding to Ongar the World-Weary. Amelie was sitting on the bed, nursing a hurt leg with some sort of concoction she pulled from her bag. Blood soaked through her breeches as she bandaged it up, steam rising from her skin where she rubbed in a salve.

"Amelie Rose, we gotta talk," Jean sighed, leaning against the wall opposite his sister. His arm hurt and he was exhausted, but that didn't matter.

"About Anna Marie?" Amelie said, her voice hoarse. She held out a bottle of burn salve; he took a handful and splashed it on his face with his good hand.

"What are we gonna do?" Jean undid the straps of his bracers, wincing as he did. "What things do we need to take care of now that she's gone?" he asked. His intentions were rational, but his voice shook nonetheless.

"Let me make you something," Amelie said, squeezing her eyes shut. "We... we need to tell the guild. And we will need to go through all her things at some point," she said, fussing with the small alchemy setup she had brought along.

"We might have to put that one off for later," Jean said, frowning disconsolately. "I get the feeling we won't be back at the house for some time."

"What about the armor and scrolls she has at Cloud Ruler?" Amelie asked, taking ingredients out of her bag. "And what are we going to do with it all?"

Jean groaned, leaning back against the wall. "I don't know. We can give it to the Blades, or the arena. Gods above know I can't use her stuff. And neither can you."

Amelie stared at the ground, letting her mixture stew. "I think there is something else that we have to talk about."

They fell silent for a long moment, the gentle bubbling of Amelie's potion the only noise in the room.

"What if we die?" Jean finally said.

They fell silent. It was a grim prospect, admittedly one that had been on their minds since taking on the challenge of protecting the Emperor and retrieving the Amulet. But now, it was one they were forced to confront.

"They're gonna come for us," Jean said. "It's a matter of time, they've probably already worked out a plan to kill us."

"If I die, send a messenger to Raminus immediately," Amelie instructed.

"Raminus? You hate him."

"But he will be in charge. I'll compose him a letter detailing what to do with the University," she said.

Jean nodded. "Books?" he asked.

"To the archives," she said. "Unless there are any you want to keep."

Jean scoffed, but nodded in agreement. "Is there anything at the University you want buried with you?"

Amelie's resolve broke. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she went on. "There is a safe, hidden under the bed in the tower where I keep all my journals and logs." She turned to Jean. _"Swear to me_ you won't open it until I am dead."

"Amelie—"

_"SWEAR."_

"Sworn," Jean said.

Amelie stared at him for a moment, just to be sure. "What about you?" she asked finally. "What about the guild?"

Jean lowered his gaze, sighing through his nose. It was inevitable, he would die one way or another, be it during this war or another. They might as well square this away now. "Break the news to the guild and get the cowl back to Corvus," he instructed. "He'll... figure something out."

"Who shall I tell?"

"Anyone. Word'll get back."

"Is there no one specific you can give me?" Amelie asked. The secrecy in Jean's life was an understandable necessity, but incredibly frustrating.

"No one comes to mind. Just put it in the Black Horse or something, they'll find out somehow."

_"JEAN!"_

_"Fine!_ Tell Methredhel," he said. "Or Armand. Whatever you want to do, I don't care."

"What if I find them in prison?"

"Then we've never heard of them," Jean said flatly. "There are keys and gold hidden in the house—"

"I knew it," Amelie sighed, waving him over.

"Since you're Archmage, you probably won't need the money, but if you do..." Jean broke off, sitting down beside her on the bed. He stretched out his injured arm, allowing her to work on it. She rubbed in a bottle of potion that stung and burned, but by now Jean was used to the post-Oblivion healing methods Amelie had cooked up. After all, where else would he get them?

"Could I give it away?" she asked.

"Give it _away?_ After all I've done to get it?" Jean asked, aghast.

"Where should we bury you?" Amelie asked, changing the subject, pouring something else on his arm and gently stretching his muscles.

"Wherever you and Anna Marie are," Jean said. "I've gotta keep an eye on you. We go together, remember?"

Amelie's lip twitched. "Where should we bury her? Here? "We don't have time to get back to Anvil," she reasoned.

"But we live in Anvil, there's no place for us here in Bruma," Jean said. "Even Bravil would be better."

"If not here, where?" Amelie demanded.

"I dunno." Amelie put up her alchemy equipment, fashioning a sling out of a burnt shirtsleeve.

"Keep it still," she instructed, tying up his arm.

"Thanks."

"Jauffre said we could bury her at Cloud Ruler," Amelie reminded him.

"Yes, because _that's_ like home," Jean scoffed, standing up.

"It may as well be!" Amelie snapped. "We all gave up the right to our homes and our lives when we agreed to join Jauffre and the others in protecting Martin."

"So, what, because Martin might only have eight guards instead of ten we can't go bury our sister?" Jean retorted.

"We can bury her here, with the other Blades," Amelie said, struggling to maintain her calm. "She will be nearby, and there will always be someone to watch over her here."

Jean kicked the bedside table, knocking his bracers onto the floor. Amelie flinched, scooting away from him.

"There's just... nothing here for her," he lamented, sinking back onto the bed beside Amelie. "Nothing for us. I miss the bay."

"Our lives and the fates of everyone we love are now rooted in the north," she said. "If we ever want to have a peaceful life, we must end this."

_"Martin_ has to end this. This has _nothing_ to do with us."

"He cannot do it without our help."

"But now there's just us two." Jean looked to the side, his gaze connecting with his sister's. "What'll they do if we just keep dying off?"

"Cyrodiil cannot afford to keep losing powerful warriors."

"And I can't afford t' lose you!" Jean said harshly. He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. " We can't do _everything_, this is gonna be the end of us."

"Then perhaps we need to recruit extra help," Amelie suggested. "Find sellswords, ask the counts and countesses if we can borrow from the patrolmen."

"But we're leaving Anvil alone, right?"

"I suppose we'll have to."

They fell silent, and did not sleep.


	10. Grand Larceny

**Grand Larceny**

Amelie and Jean returned the next day around noon. Jean's arm was patched up in a sling; Amelie was walking on a bloodied leg with a slight limp aided by her staff. Otherwise, the pair looked none the worse for wear.

"Glad to see you all held up," Jean said indifferently.

"We're glad you're still alive," Jauffre said. "I fear this is only the beginning."

"I get that feeling, too," Jean said. "The sooner we're done with this, the better."

"I agree," Amelie said, expression grim. "But... let us bury her first."

Amelie rendered the need for spades and shovels useless, instead using her staff to quickly clear out a patch of land for their sister. Jean shakily laid Anna Marie down with his uninjured arm. As Amelie replaced the earth and snow around Anna Marie, tears ran down her cheeks. Jean hugged her tightly to him, face set. He rested his chin atop her head, staring at the grave as she buried her face in his shoulder.

Jauffre and Baurus stopped before the grave and laid down Anna Marie's shield and sword, the same ones Jauffre had given her when she became a Blade.

"She will be missed," Jauffre said consolingly. "By all of Cyrodiil."

"She was... she was a great fighter," Baurus added. "Went down that way, it looks like. Fighting till the end."

Amelie nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath. "She lived and died by the sword and shield."

Martin said nothing, hanging back from the emotional proceedings. The last thing he wanted to do was intrude or make them feel that their loss was unimportant. Instead, he returned to his work on the Mysterium Xarxes, racing to prevent another death.

Jean and Amelie spent the rest of the day resting in their room. Martin did not see either of them again until the next evening, when the pair was sitting together over a shared bit of bread. They were speaking quietly with each other, expressions still grim and joyless.

"Evening," Amelie said, nodding to Martin. He sat down at his increasingly crowded table. The Sanguine Rose took up quite a bit of room, setting all of his books off at odd angles.

"Evening." He looked them over. They still looked exhausted, and were still recovering. Jean's bow arm still rested in its sling, and Amelie still avoided using her leg and favored using her staff as a walking stick. "How are you?"

They did not answer. Amelie stared at the grain of the wood on the table, Jean cleared his throat.

"Any progress?" he asked, looking to the Mysterium Xarxes.

"Very little," Martin admitted, instinctively moving to slide it out of view before realizing that Anna Marie was no longer around to pry. "But it's coming."

Jean nodded to the Sanguine Rose. "So what _is_ that thing?"

Martin swallowed. "The Sanguine Rose," he said. "An artifact of the Daedric prince, Sanguine."

"What's it do?" Jean asked.

"It... summons daedra," he said simply, not wanting to elaborate any more than he had to.

Amelie immediately looked up, alarmed. "That's not what you intend to use it for, is it?" she asked.

"No! No," he assured her. "No, its days of summoning will end with the ritual, at least for a few centuries."

"Good," she said, returning her gaze to the table.

Jean, however, frowned. "You said you'd seen it before?"

Martin hesitated before speaking. His past was not something he enjoyed discussing. "Yes," he admitted. "When I was younger."

Jean raised an eyebrow as Amelie looked back up at him.

"The Mages Guild absolutely does not sanction Daedric magic," Amelie pointed out suspiciously.

He was caught. Martin rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words. "I, we were impatient," he said. "The other apprentices and I... The Mages Guild is restrictive—"

"For a reason," Amelie pointed out.

Martin took a deep breath, his fingers edgily tapping against the pile of books on his table. "We wanted only to know more," he rationalized. "We were young, we were impatient and on top of the world, we thought ourselves invincible to everything. The riddles of Daedric magic, forbidden by the guild, how could we resist?"

"People die by Daedric magic!" Amelie said seriously.

_"Do you think I don't know that, now?"_ Martin snapped. Amelie flinched, and shrunk away from him.

Martin sighed deeply. This was not where he had hoped greeting them would lead. "Knowledge and power were our gods, and we got in over our heads. I suppose you can guess the rest."

They fell silent.

"I can assure you, no one wants to see the Rose gone from Nirn more than I do," Martin said, in a last-ditch effort to save the conversation.

Jean scoffed, staring at the Rose. "Wanna bet?"

* * *

In the earliest hours of the morning, Jean was leaning back in a chair, his feet up on the table, shooting at the ceiling of the Great Hall again. His arm was slightly weaker, but his aim was still true.

Martin carried his work back out of his room, intending to set up at his usual table and perhaps avoid them. The siblings had not spoken with him in a few days, and he got the feeling that they were going out of their way to avoid him. Martin wondered if his familiarity with the Rose was giving them second thoughts.

"Jean," he said nervously.

"What?" Jean's face was stony and set, shooting arrow after arrow into the rafters.

Martin paused. "How are you?"

"Great."

Silence.

"Where is Amelie?" Martin asked.

"In our room," Jean said, burying an arrow in a supporting beam. "Working."

"Still?"

"Always."

Martin paused, thoughtful. "Will she be all right?"

"Fine."

Martin breathed deeply, trying to think of what he could say. "Anna Marie spoke fondly of you and your family," he said.

"She shouldn't have." Jean remained impassive, loosing another arrow.

"Why?" Martin asked, frowning. "She said you would remember the most, but..."

"Nothing good there. Dark and gloomy." Jean paused in his shooting, casting a half-glance in his direction, his expression disdainful. "You don't need to know anything else about our past."

Wondering whether or not he should swear off conversation completely, Martin sat back down at his table. Jean peered at the sheaf of notes Martin was carrying with the Mysterium Xarxes.

"I see you've kept busy, too," he said, taking his feet off the table.

"I have."

"More progress?"

"Yes. If you feel up to it—"

"Please," Jean said. "Give me something to do. I hate just sitting around."

"Are you sure you—"

"I'm fine," Jean insisted. "Just tell me what to do."

Martin watched him carefully for a moment before opening the Mysterium Xarxes. "The next item we will need to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise is the blood of a Divine."

"I suppose you already have an idea how in Oblivion I'm supposed to get that?" Jean asked. Undeterred by Jean's contemptible mood, Martin continued.

"The armor of Tiber Septim is still housed in Sancre Tor. I believe that his armor should have some blood in it. It does not need to be a lot—the barest scraping will do."

"I'll leave that to you," Jean said, getting up. "Armor of Tiber Septim, coming up."

He set out without so much as a torch.

* * *

Jean was diligent about sending messengers back to them, though Martin thought this was more for Amelie's sake than anyone else's. The first message came from the Imperial City, in which Jean professed his foolishness at taking the wrong direction and running straight into an Oblivion Gate. He promised to set out for Chorrol in the morning, and also outlined what appeared to be a rogue attack from the Mythic Dawn.

"Is that from Jean?"

Amelie had emerged from her room at last, her limp fully healed.

"Yes. He's arrived in the Imperial City," Jauffre said, showing her the letter. "It's rather troubling, though."

"A Dunmer and a Breton suddenly summoned Mythic Dawn armor and attacked me in the streets, I was lucky a guard was passing by," Amelie read aloud. "Can you believe it? Hope there are none incognito in Bruma."

Amelie folded up the letter, anxiety and worry etched into her face. "I certainly hope not as well," she said, laying the letter back down on the table.

Two days later, another letter arrived from Jean. He was in Chorrol, and preparing to set out for what appeared to be a second expedition to Sancre Tor.

"Getting really tired of these sleeper agents. Breton gentleman attacked me in broad daylight while I was looking for the weapons shop. Had to kill him myself, hope no one thought I was in the wrong. Counted two more Oblivion Gates on my way here, closed one of them. Saw Modryn Oreyn today, told him about Anna Marie. Going to Sancre Tor again tomorrow, provided I don't get killed."

Amelie folded up the letter, discomfort etched in the crease between her furrowed brows. "I am worried about these sleeper agents Jean keeps encountering," she said. "I can scarcely believe that those are the only ones."

"I agree," Jauffre said. "Perhaps they were displaced when you raided the shrine, Amelie Rose."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps they have orders," Amelie said. "It's difficult to say."

Nearly four days later, another message arrived from the Imperial City.

"Three more Oblivion Gates in the middle of nowhere. Killed the daedra, but left them alone because I am very weighed down. Got the armor, it is very heavy, please enchant to be lighter. Tell Martin it has plenty of blood for him. Was attacked again by two Mythic Dawn assassins in the city. This is edging insane, Amelie Rose. Let Jauffre know I will search Bruma for more agents when I arrive.

"Postscript: Talkative little Bosmer was asking around town about Anna Marie. Was not sure what to say."

While Martin was relieved that the armor would suffice for the ritual, Jauffre appeared unsettled.

"All these attacks are worrying," Jauffre said. "If Jean has been attacked so many times outside of Bruma, I cannot imagine what he will find _in_ Bruma."

"Defending Bruma is definitely becoming more of a concern," Amelie agreed. "With Oblivion Gates popping up left and right, it is only a matter of time before another one opens nearby."

"The daedra from Oblivion are innumerable, but the Bruma guards are not," Jauffre said. Amelie nodded solemnly.

"What are you thinking?" Martin asked.

"We need aid. Bruma is capable of holding its own, but I fear what will happen should they go in alone. I hate to ask this of you, Amelie," Jauffre said, turning to her. "But we need reinforcement troops. Will you ask the rulers of the other cities for help?"

Amelie nodded, pensive. "If I have been hearing the Bruma guards patrolling the city correctly, the other cities' resources have been spread thin due to the Oblivion crisis."

"I do not doubt that. But the Empire will stand or fall with Bruma," Jauffre said. "As the Archmage, I am sure you can convince them somehow. Perhaps you can request aid from the guilds as well? We must buy time until Martin can complete this ritual."

"I understand. And I agree, I will go," Amelie said.

"Excellent."

* * *

Martin caught Amelie before she left that evening for Bruma.

"Amelie, please don't go," Martin implored her.

"Why not?" Amelie asked.

"I worry for you on these dangerous expeditions," Martin said. "You know this."

"I _do_ know this," Amelie said. "I also know that remaining here will do us no good, we've been over this. The Oblivion Gates surrounding the cities must be shut."

Martin paled. "You intend to close _all_ the Gates?"

"Perhaps not _all_ of them," Amelie said. "But enough of them so that the cities will send relief troops to Bruma. I am rather amazed that no one has done anything about the Gates yet..." She fell into thought again, her gaze wandering away. Martin stood before in silence for a moment, wondering if she would come back on her own. She did not.

"Amelie!" Martin said finally, snapping her out of it.

"Mm?"

"Please... at least stay until Jean returns," Martin said. _"Please._ Set my mind at ease."

Amelie paused.

"Oh... very well," she said at last. "If I must. But only until then."


	11. Demented

**Demented**

Martin's ploy to keep Amelie in Cloud Ruler Temple was only marginally successful, as Jean returned the next morning, positively worn out. He looked beaten up and tired, but was evidently successful.

"Here. Tiber Septim's armor," he said, hoisting his bag onto the table in front of Martin. "Nice to know I have the blood of Talos in all my effects now."

"Thank you, Jean," Martin said, slightly put off by Jean's pessimism.

"Any further trouble in Bruma?" Jauffre asked.

"None," Jean said. "Thank the Nine."

Martin examined the armor with interest. There was indeed plenty of blood, more than he needed. Martin supposed that was for the better.

"Jean!"

Amelie ran into the room, giving her brother a hug. "I was so worried," she said, squeezing him tightly.

"I know," Jean said. "Martin give you any trouble?"

"Wh-What?" Martin looked up, both confused and affronted.

"Jean, of course not," Amelie said, also confused. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Jean said. "Glad I'm back."

"As am I," Amelie said. "Listen. I am going out to request aid for the Bruma guard. I'll likely be gone for a while."

"You're not going to do something foolish now, are you?" Jean asked warily.

"The Oblivion crisis has escalated too far," Amelie said. "I must do something. I plan to close the Gates surrounding the cities and request that reinforcement troops be sent to Bruma."

"Ok. Got it. You're gonna go on a suicide mission while I twiddle my thumbs back here with the Emperor," Jean said. "Absolutely not!"

"Jean, I'll be fine—"

"I'm not gonna risk it!" Jean snapped. "You're not going!"

"Amelie, listen to Jean," Martin implored. "Stay safe!"

"Jean, I _will_ do this!" Amelie said. "And I _do not_ appreciate the both of you teaming up against me," she added, glaring at Martin.

"I'm not gonna let you march out there to your death," Jean said. "I ran into a couple sleepers. You're gonna run into dozens!"

"What makes you so sure?"

"I'm not the one that raided their shrine," Jean pointed out. "I'm just your brother. I'm pretty sure it's your head they're after, and yours next," he added, looking at Martin. _"Tell me_ that isn't important!"

"It _is_ important!" Amelie snapped. "And that is why it's so imperative that we secure these extra troops for Bruma! Simply knowing that they do not stand alone will surely raise morale, and—"

_"You're not going!"_ Jean shouted back. Amelie glared at him as well.

"This is not up for debate, Jean," Amelie said. "I _will_ go, and there _will_ be troops with me when I return."

"Are you joking, rosy?" Jean demanded harshly. "What troops are gonna follow _you_ into battle?"

Amelie backed away from him, hurt. Jean squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"You're not going," he said again, softer.

"Try and stop me." Amelie turned heading for the door.

"Amelie," Martin said despairingly as she left. She walked past him.

"I will be fine. When I return—"

"Amelie, please, _listen!"_ He caught her arm, pulling her back from the door. "Please, at least take someone with you, I don't want you to take this on alone!"

_"Stop!"_ Amelie shouted, yanking her arm away from him. "I won't be alone, since _clearly_ the guards will feel sorry for me and be inclined to protect me," she spat. Jean glared back at her. "You cannot stop me from going!"

"Then take Jean with you for the journey," Martin pleaded.

"Jean has been through enough today," Amelie said firmly. "He needs to rest."

"Bullshit I do," Jean said. "I'm not staying with him, I'm going with—"

Amelie pitched a ball of flames at him, forcing him to duck. It scorched the floor, hissing and smoking as it landed. "Stay here where you can recover," she said, raising her staff.

"So help me, don't you DARE—"

Before Jean could react, Amelie cast a spell, and was gone.

"AMELIE ROSE!" Jean shouted. "DAMMIT!" He lashed out at the table, kicking it as he fell into a chair, head in his hands.

Martin sank down behind his pile of books, the oppressive silence in the room smothering him. "Jean?" he asked cautiously.

Jean shoved himself away from the table and stormed off to his room.

* * *

Amelie's sudden departure was met with mixed feelings around the temple. Jauffre, while pleased that she was taking the matter seriously, worried that she was perhaps getting a little too used to the horrors of Oblivion. Baurus was confident that she would return, but did not appear happy that she had left so quickly. Jean was testy at best, and refused to speak to anyone for the remainder of the week.

One night, as Martin was working on the Mysterium, Jean entered the Great Hall.

"Jean, are you all right?" Baurus asked, getting up from his chair.

"Fine. Hey, can you give me a minute with Martin?" he asked curtly.

"Er... sure."

Baurus shot a concerned look over his shoulder as he left the room.

"Is there something on your mind?" Martin asked, attempting to finish the section he was on before Jean started speaking. Instead, a glint of silver caught his eye.

"You could say that."

Martin recoiled into the back of his chair when he looked up to see Jean's dagger inches from his face. The Mysterium Xarxes fell against the table with a bang, upsetting a pile of notes and papers.

"Jean—!"

"You listen to me, _Brother_ Martin. I don't care if you're a priest, the Emperor, or Akatosh himself. You mind yours, and I'll mind mine," Jean snapped at him.

"What? Wh-What are you talking about?" Martin asked shakily, pushing himself as far back into his chair as he could. He racked his brains, trying to find an explanation for Jean's sudden mental snap. Was this still about the Rose?

"If I see you lay a hand on my sister one more time, if you even _think_ you could be good enough for her—"

"Good enough?" Martin asked, now thoroughly confused. "What do you—"

"Amelie Rose and I are all that's left, and I'm not about t' lose her!"

"J-Jean, please understand—"

_"She deserves t' do better than settle with you!"_ Jean snapped harshly, the point of his knife uncomfortably close to Martin's skin.

Martin sputtered incomprehensibly for a moment, struggling to put something together that could appease Jean. "Even if I _were_ trying to court her," Martin said quickly, "that would be rather difficult, there are guards and Blades around us at all times, how would I—"

_"Court_ her?" Jean snapped angrily. "She's all I have! She can do better than someone so, so _weak-willed_ and—_"_

"Jean, _listen to me—"_

"Anna Marie has already died for you, Martin," Jean said, his voice low. "Don't you _dare_ take away Amelie Rose, too. You are not entitled t' her life."

"I have never intended for my friendship with Amelie to be anything more!" Martin said. Jean gave an empty laugh.

"Like I'll believe that!" Jean barked. "How many women have you already done wrong by, with _him_ at your side?" He pointed angrily at the Sanguine Rose, still lying on Martin's table.

Martin took a deep breath, wounded. "Those days are behind me," he said evenly. "But the bitter wisdom that one has been a fool is not without value."

"What kinda _bitter wisdom_ is that?" Jean demanded.

"Jean, enough!" Martin shouted, getting to his feet. "I have made mistakes in my youth, as I am sure that you have, too!"

"Not like that!" he snapped. "_Never _like that!"

"This is not about you or me," Martin said, changing tack and doing his best to suppress every instinct that told him to shout, to fight back, to confront Jean and win so thoroughly that Jean would never raise his voice again. "I did not choose to be the Empire's last hope, and I did not mean to give you the impression that I have been seeking Amelie's hand."

"Talk doesn't change a thing," Jean snarled.

Out of ideas, Martin shook his head. "Please, Jean, do you really mean to harm me? Or do you mean to kill me?" Martin asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the response.

Jean remained impassive for a moment. Finally, he lowered his knife, still gripping it tightly as he stared Martin down, his brown eyes shining with gold in the dim light.

Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "Jean—"

"If you so much as brush her again," Jean said slowly, watching Martin's every move, "just remember. All we need is Dragonborn blood. I'm sure you have plenty of that, dead or alive."

He dropped his hand, returning his knife to its sheath.

"We brought you your rose," Jean snapped. "Leave me with mine."

Jean swiftly left the Hall without further word.


	12. The Reinforcements

**The Reinforcements**

Tensions ran high for the next few days. Jean flat out refused to speak to Martin, opting instead to make liberal use of a tree outside of Cloud Ruler Temple for target practice.

Amelie did not send news of her travels, making it difficult for Martin to gauge how worried he should be. After she had been gone for a week and a half, Martin had settled into a sort of perpetual state of high alert. Every footstep in the hall could be the messenger bringing news of triumph, or of defeat.

Finally, three sets of troops arrived from the east.

"Captain Ilend Vonius of the Kvatch guard, reporting to aid Bruma, sir," a guard in a Kvatch cuirass said.

"Captain Hieronymus Lex of the Anvil guard, also reporting in," another guard, this one in Anvil's armor, said.

Jauffre beamed at them. "Welcome. Thank you for coming. Please..."

While Jauffre brought the reinforcements up to speed, Jean inexplicably made himself scarce. Martin surveyed the troops, wondering.

"Did Archmage Azarath say anything to you?" he asked Captain Lex before he left to set up camp outside Bruma.

"Hm?" Lex turned to him, standing at attention. "Yes. Amelie was rather upset that the Oblivion crisis has risen to this point," Captain Lex said. "Made short work of the Gates outside Anvil, though. Fort Sutch is safe thanks to her."

"I see."

"So... Emperor, then?" Ilend asked, approaching Martin as Lex excused himself to set up camp. "Feels like it's been a long time, Brother Martin."

Martin nodded, smiling. "Indeed... a lot has happened since last we spoke."

"I'll say. You've come a long way," Ilend remarked. "And so have our little heroes of Kvatch, it seems."

"Yes... but they cannot do this alone," Martin said firmly.

"I understand. They saved my life back in Kvatch," Ilend said. "I owe them this, if not more."

A few more days passed without incidence. Jean was rarely seen outside of Cloud Ruler Temple, keeping a cautious eye on the troops in Bruma from the ramparts.

"Is something the matter with Jean?" Baurus asked Martin finally. "He's been acting strangely ever since Amelie left."

"I think he is upset," Martin said, perhaps a little too quickly. "He's... been through a lot."

"I guess you're right. All the same, though."

That night, a troop led by Captain Dion arrived from Skingrad.

"Captain Dion of the Skingrad guard. At your service, my lord," Captain Dion said, saluting Jauffre and Martin.

"Thank you for coming. The other troops have set up a camp outside of Bruma," Jauffre said. "If you like—"

"'Scuse me! Bittneld the Curse-Bringer of the Chorrol guard, reporting in!" A pair of troops made its way into the Temple, looking pleased. "Glad I caught you, seems we were just in time."

"Indeed! I was just catching Caption Dion up on our current state of affairs," Jauffre said, beaming. "Thank you."

"Amelie's really getting it done," Baurus commented, watching first as Jauffre explained the situation, then as the new troops left for the Bruma camp. "I don't pretend I'm not glad we have all this support, but..."

Martin shook his head, anxious. "It looks as though she has taken no time to rest."

"I worry for her, too," Jauffre said as he returned. "These troops have nothing but horror stories about the Gates of Oblivion they have seen her close. It makes me wonder about the competence of these troops."

"They won't be going into Gates, though," Baurus said.

"Ideally, yes," Jauffre affirmed. "I suppose if push comes to shove, we can always send Jean in the event one should open near Bruma."

Martin wondered whether or not he should hope that Amelie returned before then.

* * *

It was nearly a week before more troops arrived. Viera Lerus of Bravil told them of how Amelie brought down the gate dooming her city, which Lerexus Callidus of Leyawiin correlated with his own tale of destruction.

"The daedra were everywhere," Viera said. "We had no idea what to do with them, let alone how to close a Gate."

"Same with us," Lerexus said. "We were at a loss. I'd already lost a few men trying to shut it down. I guess it just takes experience?"

"I don't know that I'd want experience," Viera said thoughtfully. "All the same, I'm glad Bravil's safe. Now I can focus on keeping Bruma intact as well."

The day after Viera and Lerexus arrived saw the arrival of both Raminus Polus and Modryn Oreyn as well, meeting with Martin and Jean in the Great Hall.

"I understand that Archmage Azarath is concerned about the welfare of Bruma," Raminus said upon his arrival. "It is my duty to see that the Archmage's concerns are taken care of."

Jean nodded to Raminus, watching him closely. "The guilds of Cyrodiil have to back us if we have any hope of coming out on top," he said.

"Your concerns are not unfounded," Modryn agreed. "Guild Master Anna Marie has already fallen for the cause. We must ensure that there are no more unnecessary casualties."

"The Archmage was particularly concerned with your safety, my lord," Raminus added, nodding to Martin. "You need not worry. You are safe with us."

Martin stayed silent as they left. Jauffre and the others saw safety, but he saw more people who were willing to die for his sake. How many of them would fall before the end?

* * *

Days passed. Martin continued his work on the Mysterium Xarxes, and had taken to sitting near the windows, watching the camp outside of Bruma grow. As the time passed, the assembled guards grew more and more familiar with each other, perhaps sharing battle stories and predicting what would happen in the epic battle they had all assembled for.

On this particular day, Martin was working on the Mysterium Xarxes in the Great Hall, surrounded by other books he used for reference and comparison. He had hit a wall, and no longer felt able to progress. He stared blankly at the Mysterium Xarxes, wondering what could be done to make further progress. Perhaps he ought to find another reference book...

A shout came from outside, followed by a prompt investigation. Baurus poked his head outside the Hall, looking around and swiftly interrogating passersby.

"What is it?" Martin asked. Baurus threw the door open, grinning widely.

"Amelie's back," he said.

Slamming the Mysterium Xarxes shut on the table, Martin ran to the door to see for himself. Indeed, Amelie Rose was making her way up the mountain path, in the company of an unfamiliar pair of knights.

"Amelie Rose." Jean was already waiting at the top of the stairs for them to arrive, arms crossed and stern.

"Hello, Jean," Amelie said.

Silence.

"Have you been causing trouble?" she asked.

"You know me."

"I do indeed."

Amelie hugged him tightly, exhaustion in every line on her face. "Stop it."

Jean shook his head, hugging her back. "Fine, fine."

"How are you, Martin?" she asked, turning her attentions to him.

"None the worse than before you left," Martin lied. "Thank you, for doing this."

"So, who're your friends?" Jean asked.

The pair of knights were standing awkwardly behind her, one a Dunmer, the other an Imperial. The two men certainly didn't look like members of any city guard, their armor and shields emblazoned with an unfamiliar crest.

"Oh." Amelie's momentary frown betrayed how little she thought of them. "Jean, Martin, Baurus... this is Farwil Indarys and Bremman Senyan of the Knights of the Thorn."

"...The, ah, what now?" Jean asked, looking suspicious.

"Master Farwil is Count Indarys's son," Amelie explained. "He is also the founder of the Knights of the Thorn."

Farwil bowed with an extravagant flourish. "Farwil Indarys, at your service, my liege."

Bremman hesitantly followed suit. "Erm, Bremman Senyan, my lord."

At a loss, Martin looked between the two of them.

"We have come on behalf of Ulrich Leland and all of Cheydinhal!" Farwil announced grandly.

"I see," Martin said, unsure of what to think. "Er, well, the rest of the troops have set up a camp outside of Bruma. I am sure they will have a place for you."

Bremman nodded. "I will set up a tent."

"Not for me!" Farwil said insistently, flashing a grin. "I will stay here."

"H-Here?" Amelie looked less shocked, and more annoyed than anything. "Farwil, surely you—"

"My dear, someone must protect you," Farwil said seriously. "Who better than me?"

Baurus shook his head, immediately moving to separate Farwil from the two siblings.


	13. The Others

**The Others**

"Farwil, I think it'd be best if you went to Bruma," Jean said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Nonsense. I will stay here," Farwil insisted. "I will be Lady Amelie's bodyguard!"

Amelie looked as though she had suddenly been stricken with a splitting headache.

"Farwil, please go with Bremman to Bruma," she said. "You need not worry about me here."

"Someone has to," Farwil said, waving Bremman off. Bremman obediently left to go set up a tent outside Bruma.

"Amelie!"

Jauffre approached them at last, grinning cheerily. "The Bruma garrison is stronger than we could ever have hoped. Thank you."

"I promise nothing short of the best," Amelie said, nodding.

"I might ask, though, why High Chancellor Ocato sent no troops from the Imperial Legion?" Jauffre asked.

Amelie's expression showed her distaste for the chancellor. "Chancellor Ocato refused to pull troops from the other provinces to assist the effort in Bruma," Amelie said. "I regret that I could not manage a better outcome."

"Ah, well. This will suffice, I'm sure," Jauffre said. "Well done, Amelie."

"Any trouble from the Mythic Dawn?" Martin asked as they reentered the Great Hall, Jauffre breaking off to resume his duties.

"Quite a bit, actually," Amelie said, distressed. "It seems as though they are everywhere. And NOT A WORD out of you," she added, silencing Jean before he could open his mouth.

"What about the Oblivion Gates?" Baurus asked.

"We took care of them!" Farwil interjected, looking pleased with himself. "The one outside Cheydinhal, anyway."

"After which Count Indarys _suggested_ that I take his son with me to Bruma," Amelie said pointedly. "And which Farwil _suggested_ would be for the best."

Martin frowned at Farwil. "Farwil, are you sure your place is not with Bremman?"

"He is a Knight of the Thorn, he can handle himself," Farwil said confidently. "As can I."

"Will someone bring me up to speed?" Amelie asked. "What have I missed?"

"I will, come on," Jean said quickly. "No reason to drag Martin away from his work."

Martin looked at Jean in disbelief. "Jean, it is not as though I cannot spare a second of my time," he said. "And I would rather like to hear whatever Amelie has to tell us about her travels."

"As would everyone else, I think," Baurus added.

"Later," Jean said coolly. "Come on, Amelie Rose."

Looking confused, Amelie refused to move. "Jean, is something the matter?"

"Nothing," Jean said. "Stop worrying."

Amelie looked suspiciously between him and Martin. "Martin...?"

"Everything is fine," Martin lied. "Go with Jean, we can speak later."

"You heard the man, Amelie Rose," Jean said, shepherding her towards their room.

"Jean, on second thought, I am rather tired," Amelie said, gently pushing him off of her. "I have had a long trip, I think I will turn in for the night."

Amelie kicked Jean back out into the Great Hall before withdrew into her room, leaving Farwil, Martin, Baurus, and Jean alone in the Hall together.

As soon as Amelie was out of sight, Farwil laughed.

"What, Farwil?" Baurus asked, closing the door to the living quarters.

Farwil grinned widely. "She's endearing, isn't she?"

"Care t' run that by me again?" Jean asked. Martin recognized the harsh tone in Jean's voice.

"Ah, no negativity intended," Farwil said, his manner caught between courteous and perfunctory. "But you mark my words, she WILL come to me. And when she does—"

"You know what, I think we should all get some sleep," Baurus said loudly before Jean or Martin could react. "Farwil, I'm sure we can find you a room on the east side of the temple."

"On the east...? But—"

"Come on, Farwil, if you're gonna stay here..." Baurus all but dragged him out of the room.

* * *

The next few days were hectic at best. Farwil's insistence on remaining in Cloud Ruler Temple was vexing to everyone, but seemed to take an especially heavy toll on Jean. Amelie, while she put up with Farwil, never encouraged him. Not that Farwil ever noticed.

Amelie had taken to meeting with the troops outside Bruma, something that Jean flatly refused to do. She frequently came back in a much better mood than she had left in, despite the fact that Farwil always accompanied her. Unfortunately, her good mood did not always last.

"Farwil, please," she said exasperatedly, putting her book down. "If you cannot allow us to read in peace, we shall never see the end of this war against Oblivion."

"You work much too hard, Amelie," Farwil said. "Come take a walk with me."

"Absolutely not." Amelie returned to her book. Martin suppressed a smile. What a familiar scenario, but what an unpleasant companion.

"It is such a shame to waste that beautiful view," Farwil said. "Come with me!"

"Farwil, you are welcome to enjoy the sunshine by yourself," Amelie said, turning a page. "Perhaps go train with Baurus or something. I'm sure the Blades would welcome you into their training sessions."

"Perhaps I can teach you how to wield a blade?" Farwil suggested slyly.

Amelie narrowed her eyes at him. _"No."_

"Farwil, please," Martin said, having heard enough. "Leave her in peace."

"I don't understand why the both of you are so intent on staying inside and reading these... books all day," Farwil said, halfheartedly picking up Martin's copy of The Doors of Oblivion. "It can't be good for you."

"Regardless of whether or not it is," Amelie said, jotting down notes. "We have work that must be done. You can either sit here quietly, or go elsewhere and be productive."

"Don't you have _people_ to do all this research work for you?" Farwil asked. "You are the Archmage, and you are the Emperor! You mustn't waste your lives working."

Amelie closed her book. "Farwil. Please leave."

"But Amelie—"

"Now."

Farwil got up and left, upset but undeterred.

"I WILL get you outside one of these days, Amelie!" he said firmly.

"Of course you will."

As the door shut behind him, Amelie let her head fall forward onto the desk with a soft whump.

"A-Amelie?"

"Oh, gods, he drives me mad. Martin, I am so sorry," she said, her voice muffled by the book.

"For what?"

Amelie sat back up, fiddling with her braid. "If I had had it my way, Farwil would still be in Cheydinhal. Or farther, actually. I cannot imagine he will be much help in the days to come."

"You need not apologize. He is rather intent on being your bodyguard," Martin pointed out. "Perhaps he will end up dying for the cause."

Amelie cracked a small smile in spite of herself. "Perhaps. I suppose we could run into a mountain lion one of these days on the way to Bruma."

"Or a troll," Martin suggested.

"But we mustn't hope it comes to that," Amelie added as a sort of afterthought.

"Of course."

Amelie sighed, picking up her book but not looking particularly interested in it. "How are you doing?" she asked.

Martin looked up, frowning. "Fine," he said.

"Just fine?"

Martin shrugged. "It is not _torture_ here, but I can think of other places I would rather be."

Amelie gave a chuckle and smiled, though the smile slid cleanly off her face just as quickly as it had come.

"What about you?" he asked. "Where would you rather be?"

She shook her head, flipping open her book. "Truly? Anywhere but here."

Martin remained silent, unsure how to respond. She saved him the trouble, shaking her head and putting her book down again.

"I apologize. I hardly mean to make it sound like it's your fault," she clarified. "Just that..."

She broke off. Martin set down the Mysterium Xarxes, watching her thoughts sweep her away again.

"...There are so many things I have to do," she said finally, meeting his eyes.

Martin blinked. He supposed it was selfish to assume that she had nothing better to do than sit in Cloud Ruler Temple and keep him company. After all, she was the Archmage. She was a valued contributor to the Empire, she was his favorite companion, she was a breath of spring in the winter cold of the Jeralls.

...What was he thinking?

"But that all has to be secondary for now," she said decisively, looking at her discarded book. "There are more important things than me to worry about and take care of."

Martin looked incredulously at her. "My dear, _you_ are important, too."

She shrugged, cracking a small smile. "To some," she admitted. "But you are important to everyone. You must be the priority, if we are ever to see you on the throne."

As much as he hated the idea, he had to admit that it was true.

* * *

The days were shorter and less anxious than they had been with Amelie gone. But now, Farwil's incessant banter now accompanied Amelie, wherever she so happened to be.

"Stop it, Farwil," Amelie snapped warningly one evening.

"I'm only asking a question," Farwil said innocently. "I am curious about your life, Amelie."

"Just because you are curious does not compel me to reveal every detail of my existence," Amelie said, exasperated. "_Please_, Farwil, this is delicate work."

"Where do you get all these things, Amelie?" Martin asked curiously, peering over his notes on the Mysterium Xarxes at the crystalline heart in front of Amelie. "What is that?"

"I have actually had this kicking around in my bag since raiding the Shrine," Amelie said, suddenly impassioned. She had been studying it all day with little success, due in large part to Farwil's constant interruptions. "I have been trying to break it down, it's very fascinating. I think if I can reduce it to its basest form—"

"Amelie Rose?"

Jean entered the Hall from the living quarters. "Do you have the deed for the Anvil house?" he asked.

"Hm? I believe I have it in tucked in one of my books," Amelie said. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Jean said. "Thought we'd lost it."

"Let me get it for you."

Amelie got up to search for the deed, Farwil made to follow her. "I was unaware you had a home—"

"Farwil, you may stay here," Amelie sighed, not even bothering to turn around. "I promise not to die."

As soon as Amelie closed the door behind her, Jean turned on Farwil, dagger at the ready. Farwil and Martin both leapt out of their chairs, ready to defend themselves.

"Got a death wish?" Jean snapped.

"I haven't had a good brawl in a while!" Farwil said, hand on the hilt of his sword, grin still firmly in place. "What's the occasion?"

Jean advanced on Farwil, still glaring. "You stay away from Amelie Rose," Jean said menacingly.

"And what gives you the right to tell me what to do?" Farwil asked, drawing his sword. "You're not in charge of anything, much less what I do!"

"I'm not in charge, no," Jean snapped, "but I don't need to be. Stay away from her."

"Make me," Farwil barked back, sword at the ready. "I'm not afraid to fight. Done it before and I'll do it again!"

_"Enough!"_ Martin shouted, moving to separate the two of them. "Jean, Farwil—"

"You stay out of it!" Jean snapped, turning the dagger on him and shooting him a glare. "You are no better!"

Farwil started to laugh again. "This is just perfect, I like a challenge! Have at—"

"You just wait, you incompetent—"

"WILL YOU PLEASE—_Calm down!"_ Martin shouted, pushing them further apart. "Both of you, stand down!"

"Give me one good reason not to cut him down right here!" Jean growled, still tense. "Back off!"

"Stop this!" Martin forcefully shoved Jean back, keeping Farwil at bay with his free arm.

A calming blue light settled around Farwil, causing him to inexplicably relax. Amelie reappeared in the doorway to the living quarters, hands raised.

"Amelie Rose," Jean said, quickly standing down. "I—"

"The deed was crumpled up in your spare doublet," Amelie said, handing it off to him and gently guiding Farwil out the door. "Explain."

Jean glowered, still angry. "Don't tell me that Dunmer _trash_ hasn't been getting under your skin."

"That is no reason to attack him," Amelie said sternly. "I do not care who he is or who you are, if you continue to treat people this way, you _will_ end up in trouble."

"I understand," Jean said impatiently. "But I'm not going to let him anywhere near you."

Amelie crossed her arms, turning back to them. "I know that Farwil is difficult to be around, but you must understand. He _is_ here to help, whether or not we would like him to be."

Jean frowned, sitting back down at the table.

"Martin," Amelie said. "Thank you for breaking them up. I believe the outcome would have been much worse had you not intervened."

Martin smiled. "I'm glad no one was hurt."

"Oh, Jean," Amelie said. "I was down at the encampment earlier, and I let slip to Hieronymus that the Gray F—"

_"Amelie Rose!"_ Jean hissed, shooting her a panicked look. Amelie paused, confused.

"Oh. Oh, Jean, relax," Amelie said nervously. "Martin... Martin knows."

Jean sighed. "You told him? I should've known."

"I'm sorry, Jean," she said penitently. "But Martin has a right to know."

Jean crossed his arms, still upset. "Fine. What about Lex?"

"I told Hieronymus and the other captains that the Gray Fox was recently in Chorrol," Amelie said.

"Thanks, Amelie Rose. You didn't have to, he's not... actively working on that anymore," Jean said, a relieved look on his face all the same.

"All the same."

"You don't have to keep lying for me," Jean said, looking guilty. "Look, I know you and Lex are friends."

Amelie nodded curtly. "Keeping you out of prison takes precedence."

"Is that why Captain Lex is here?" Martin asked. "Because you know each other?"

Amelie nodded. "Hieronymus and I met in the Imperial City, before he became Anvil's watch captain. He is a wonderful captain, if a little overzealous."


	14. Amelie and Hieronymus

**Amelie and Hieronymus**

_"Wonderful captain?_ He nearly cost you your position in the Mages Guild with that stunt in the waterfront," Jean pointed out. Amelie frowned disapprovingly.

"Yes, Raminus was upset. But that was not Hieronymus's fault, that was yours."

"At least we gave it back," Jean breathed. Amelie shot him a look before noticing a very confused Martin still in the conversation.

"If... can you explain this a little further?" he asked, bewildered. "Captain Lex originally worked for the Imperial Legion, correct?"

"It's quite the story," Amelie said. "Are you sure you want to hear it?" She cast a cautious look at Jean, who shrugged.

"You've already told him the worst part," Jean reasoned. "Don't see why he'd be surprised that we stole the Icestaff."

* * *

_Our first meeting took place way back when I was a Conjurer for the Mages Guild. Jean was back at Cloud Ruler Temple, and I was finishing a few guild errands and the research on the Mythic Dawn books. Anna Marie and Baurus had already left to return to Cloud Ruler Temple, I believe. Tar-Meena and I were spending days in the library attempting to decipher the books in between lectures and errands. However, this all became more complicated once I found that all the services in the Imperial City Waterfront had been shut down._

_"Shut down?"_

_I was trying to get to the Bloated Float Inn. Their publican Ormil likes to buy potions, and as I am always training in alchemy, I had taken to selling my excess potions there. Once I arrived, however, I was promptly accosted by an Imperial Battlemage I had gotten used to seeing outside the Arcane University. As I looked around, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of officers patrolling the Waterfront, much more than was normal or necessary._

"STOP RIGHT—ah. Conjurer Amelie."

"Hello, Iver. What are you doing here?" I asked politely.

"Ah... Watch Captain Lex has commandeered a few of us to patrol the Waterfront district," Iver explained. "I apologize for the outburst."

"It is no trouble. Has there been a murder?" I asked, concerned.

"Not on my watch, no. Watch Captain Lex is concerned about the Gray Fox, and is trying to force him out of hiding."

_'Which I imagine was exceptionally difficult, seeing as I was back here at Cloud Ruler the whole time.'_

_Which also did not aid matters for your guildmates in the Waterfront. As I understand, the jails were filled within the day._

_'Yeah, that was fun to deal with later.'_

_"It is amazing, how much news we have missed."_

_'Yeah, you've missed a lot up here. We should start getting the Black Horse Courier.'_

_"I will mention it to Jauffre."_

_In any case, I asked Iver what Hieronymus's plan to catch the Gray Fox was._

"No one's really sure," Iver said. "You know, I don't think he even knows what he'll do in the event he does catch the Gray Fox."

"What do you think about it?"

"I think the Gray Fox is a myth, personally," Iver said. "Although, we've already managed to put Armand Christophe on house arrest for possession of stolen items."

* * *

At this point in the story, Jean burst out laughing.

"What is so funny?" Amelie asked.

"Armand... he's one of my Doyens," Jean explained. "He's tangled with Hieronymus before and always come out on top. He never told me he got put on house arrest again! That dog!"

"I do not understand why you think it funny," Martin said. Jean shook his head, still snickering.

"Guild stuff. You wouldn't understand."

* * *

_In any case._

_"Please continue, Amelie."_

"This is just a wild goose chase, and I hope to the gods nothing happens while we're away," Iver said.

"Why not simply come back?"

"As an Imperial Legionnaire, I have to go where I'm commanded," Iver said. "I'll return to the Arcane University as soon as I can. But until then, I advise you to stay out of the Waterfront."

"I see. I hope to see you at lecture again soon," I said, taking my leave.

"As do I."

I finally met Hieronymus himself as I was approaching the tunnel to the Temple district.

"Stop right there, ma'am," he said. "What have you been doing in the Waterfront?"

"Watch Captain Hieronymus Lex, I presume."

"That's me. Please answer the question, ma'am."

_'Hardly the most polite man in Tamriel. Amelie Rose, please tell me this is the time you told him you were a Skooma dealer.'_

_Thought Hieronymus and I joke now, he is rather intimidating while working. I had no desire to cross him, in jest or otherwise._

_"A Skooma dealer? Amelie—"_

_Do not worry. That is untrue, and is an entirely unrelated story. Perhaps another time, Martin._

"I had intentions of selling my surplus alchemy potions and ingredients to the Bloated Float's publican, only to be told that the entire Waterfront has been shut down," I told him. "A tad inconveniencing, but I suppose I can find a buyer in the Market district."

"Why not sell in the Market district in the first place? That's why Jensine and the others are there," Hieronymus said.

"I prefer the Waterfront," I said. "The view is beautiful, and I enjoy walking with the sea breeze."

"I see. In any event, the Waterfront is under lockdown," he said. "Please take your business elsewhere."

_"And did you?"_

_Oh, of course not. Jean was the Gray Fox, and was safe from exposure in Cloud Ruler Temple. But I could not let him be discovered, regardless of where he was._

"I might ask, Mr. Lex," I said, turning back to face him. "Why shut down all commerce? Do you not trust them to run a reputable business? I personally can vouch for the Bloated Float."

"Be that as it may, ma'am, the Gray Fox is a threat that must be stopped," Hieronymus said stoically.

"I see. It is a valiant thing you are doing, Mr. Lex."

I took a few coins and a potion out of my bag. "May I ask you a favor? Puny Ancus has been suffering from yellow tick recently, and I promised him I would make something to help him get his strength back. I have not seen him in a few days, and were it any other day I would fear pickpockets in the district. I trust you will ensure this reaches him."

Hieronymus looked floored as I tied everything up in a cloth sack and gave it to him.

"Of... course."

"Thank you, Mr. Lex."

_'I'll bet he was shocked. Never done a kind thing in his life, I'm sure.'_

_Shush, Jean, that is not true._

_"I am not sure I understand. How does giving to a beggar retaliate against Captain Lex?"_

_'The beggars are my eyes and ears, Martin. And they're all over Cyrodiil. Amelie Rose's gift to Ancus was how I found out about the lockdown of the Waterfront. The news of the lockdown actually reached me before Baurus and Anna Marie got back.'_

_Very clever, if I do say so myself._

_"And Hieronymus Lex himself delivered the message that led to his own undoing. Ha!'_

"May I ask your name, ma'am?" Hieronymus asked. "To say who it's from?"

"Tell him it is from Amelie Rose Azarath."

"I see. It's a pleasure to meet you, miss Amelie Rose."

I did not hear of the incident again until the next evening, when I was working in the University with Tar-Meena. Raminus Polus approached us, looking concerned.

"Greetings, Tar-Meena. Conjurer Amelie," Raminus said. I snapped to attention.

"Good evening, Raminus."

"I have a special task for you," Raminus told me, motioning for me to follow him. He was leading me towards the Archmage's quarters.

"Yes?"

"You are aware of a certain Hieronymus Lex taking away our guards to patrol the waterfront?" Raminus asked.

"I am."

"As that is the case, we must ensure the safety of a few of the more precious artifacts in the Mages Guild," Raminus explained, opening a chest. Inside was a brilliant silver staff, chill coming off it in waves. "This is Hrormir's Icestaff. It must not be lost."

"All due respect, Master-Wizard, but I do not understand why the guild is worried about losing it," I said, examining it with interest. "It is kept under lock and key in the Archmage's quarters, by all accounts it should be safe."

"It should be," Raminus said. "But I believe that whoever is at work in the Imperial City is capable of breaking in, particularly since the Archmage is away on an errand."

"I see."

"We are short handed once again as far as guards," Raminus explained. "I would ask of you to guard the staff tonight. I will relieve you in the morning."

"Gladly, Master-Wizard."

During the night, a Thieves Guild member broke in past whoever was downstairs in the tower, and attempted to steal the staff.

_'That would have been... Methredel, if I remember right.'_

_Correct. Methredel was tasked with stealing the icestaff._

_"And you let her?"_

_Not before demanding to know what was going on. I sent her back with QUITE the message for Jean._

_'And that's why I left Cloud Ruler so quickly after Amelie Rose came back. Had to do something nice for her so she'd leave me alone about it.'_

So I allowed her to accost me, cast a quick spell to give me bruises and a black eye, and bind me to the post of the Archmage's bed and make off with the staff, leaving a note in its place. The next person to arrive was not Raminus, but Archmage Traven himself.

"Conjurer Amelie? What are you doing here?"

He untied me, looking concerned. "What happened to your eye?"

"Master-Wizard Raminus tasked me with guarding Hrormir's Icestaff in lieu of the usual guards," I explained. "I fear the worst for the Icestaff, I can recall nothing of what happened last night."

Archmage Traven opened the chest, and read over the note while I got rid of the black eye.

"This is terrible news indeed. Where are all the guards?"

"Watch Captain Hieronymus Lex has requisitioned them from all around the Imperial City to patrol the Waterfront. He is searching for the Gray Fox."

Archmage Traven frowned. "The Gray Fox was here last night. He stole the Icestaff."

_'At which point I imagine you pretended to look shocked that the great Gray Fox was in the room with you.'_

_Oh, do not flatter yourself, Jean Christophe._

"On my return to the Imperial City this morning, I heard of multiple break-ins by the Gray Fox around the city," Archmage Traven went on. "It seems he was quite busy last night while all our law enforcement was in the Waterfront. Where, unsurprisingly, nothing was stolen."

"Has Watch Captain Lex received the news?"

"No. We shall be the ones to tell him," Archmage Traven said, writing up a note. "If we do not have the proper amount of security around the Arcane University, I fear more of the same. Amelie, may I ask you to deliver this to Watch Captain Lex?"

"Of course, Archmage Traven. I... I am sorry for losing the Icestaff," I said.

"The Icestaff was a very important artifact, and it is a shame we can no longer study it," Archmage Traven lamented, handing me a note. "But I do not understand why Raminus did not think to set up more than a lone Conjurer to watch over it. Between you and the Gray Fox, I do not think it surprising that you were overpowered."

'See? The great Gray Fox. Even Traven knew it.'

"Had he known your true identity, I am sure he would have been much less impressed, Jean."

'Quiet, Martin.'

"Do you know where to find Watch Captain Lex?" Archmage Traven asked.

"I believe so."

"Please deliver that note right away. I believe the sooner the troops are restored to their proper positions, the better the entire Imperial City will feel."

"I agree."

So, note in hand, I set out for the Temple district to find Hieronymus, perhaps in the tunnel leading to the Waterfront. He was apparently just heading to the tunnel himself, I caught him right outside the Arboretum.

"Ah. Miss Amelie Rose—what happened to you?" he asked. "You're all beaten."

"Mr. Lex. I fear I have bad news," I said, giving him the note from Archmage Traven.

He read it over, looking extremely displeased. "I... what?"

"The Gray Fox has apparently been working all around the Imperial City in being unable to approach the Waterfront," I told him. "I understand that the Arcane University is not the only faction to lose something of value."

Hieronymus looked shocked. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Please return the guards to their usual patrols," I said. "I... believe Archmage Traven plans to file a formal complaint."

Hieronymus went pale. "I see. I will send the battlemages back to the University."

Iver returned to lecture that same afternoon. He was pleased to be back, and expressed his regret at not being present to thwart the Gray Fox break-in. The Icestaff was missed—

_'Amelie Rose, you're forgetting! I gave everything back after Lex vacated the Waterfront.'_

_...Oh! Yes! At the cost of one of our researchers!_

_"What do you mean?"_

The next day, I was working with Tar-Meena on the Mythic Dawn books.

"What happened to you, my friend?" she asked. "You look as though you have been fighting."

"Oh. Raminus tasked me with guarding Hrormir's Icestaff last night. It seems I was accosted by the Gray Fox," I said. "I personally recall no such thing, but waking up with bruises, tied to a bedpost, and the Icestaff missing was rather telling."

"I see! I am glad you are all right," she said. "And I am sure the Blades will be pleased as well."

"I hope so."

"Conjurer Amelie!"

Raminus stormed into the library, clearly very upset. "You let the Icestaff be stolen!"

"It was not my intention to fail at the task, Master-Wizard Raminus," I said, trying to remain calm. "I stood no chance against the Gray Fox alone, and I—"

"Hrormir's Icestaff is an invaluable magical artifact, and now our studies of it are useless!" Raminus snapped. "I am amazed that Archmage Traven did not expel you from the guild on the spot for such a terminable offense!"

"Raminus, please," Tar-Meena said, getting up. "Conjurer Amelie meant no harm, you were the one who left her by herself to guard the damned thing."

"This is not a matter of blame, the Icestaff is gone, and I am sure that the Imperial Legion will recover it soon enough," I reasoned.

"And if they do not? What then?" Raminus demanded. "Amelie Rose, your involvement with the guild is terminated—"

Before Tar-Meena and I had time to be shocked, Hieronymus entered the library with Ontus Vanin in one hand, Hrormir's Icestaff in the other.

"Master-Wizard Raminus, I believe the Arcane University has been missing this," he said, passing it off to Raminus. "Amelie Rose had no hand in its disappearance, the blame for that rests on the Gray Fox, and myself."

"Ontus?" Raminus asked, looking between him and Hieronymus. "What's going on, Lex?"

"The Icestaff was found in Mr. Vanin's private quarters," Hieronymus said. "He's being taken in for questioning."

"Well... ah, thank you, Mr. Lex," Raminus said, looking over the staff. "This... this is wonderful."

"I trust Amelie Rose's involvement with the guild is no longer disputed?" Hieronymus asked.

"Of course not," Tar-Meena spoke up. "The Council of Mages will not expel her."

"Tar-Meena—"

"Raminus, surely you cannot mean to expel Amelie now?" Tar-Meena said, crossing her arms and tutting at him. "The matter is now trivial at best. No lasting harm has been done."

Raminus paused, then nodded. "I agree. I apologize, Amelie. My outburst was premature, it seems."

"Thank you, Mr. Lex," Tar-Meena said as Raminus took the staff back to Archmage Traven.


	15. Turmoil

**Turmoil**

Amelie finished her story, looking pleased at the memories.

"At least I let him find that staff again," Jean breathed. Amelie glared at him, nostalgia evaporating.

"At Ontus's expense," Amelie retorted. Jean crossed his arms, annoyed. "Do you know, Ontus was arrested for attacking me when I was in the Imperial City speaking with Ocato? I fear he holds a grudge against me."

"Look, you're Archmage now, I don't see why you're hung up about it," Jean mumbled.

"Were you _anyone_ but my brother..." Amelie trailed off, shaking her head. "To his credit, though, Hieronymus did apologize quite charmingly for getting me in trouble," she added. "Took me to dinner and everything."

"And everything, Amelie Rose?" Jean asked suspiciously. Amelie waved away his concerns.

"It was dinner and an apology, Jean."

"That's how it starts."

"Jean," Amelie snapped warningly. "Considering the day we had both had, it was very sweet. We got to talking about his work in the Imperial Legion and my work with the Mages Guild. That was when I told him we lived in Anvil."

"Yeah. Thanks a ton for that, Amelie Rose," Jean griped, his sour mood returning just as soon as it had left. Martin wished that Amelie's story could have removed Jean's pessimism completely.

"He does not know you are the Gray Fox, and if things go smoothly, he never will," Amelie sighed. "Relax."

"A few weeks after that whole debacle, my guildmates managed to get Lex reassigned from the Imperial City. Unfortunately, the only place looking for a guard captain was Anvil," Jean explained. "I guess you'll be glad to know he stopped by when he got reassigned, Amelie Rose."

"You were there?"

"Yeah. When I was doing guild work after I got your stuff back from the Mythic Dawn, he dropped by the house to say hello. Looked like he missed you."

Amelie smiled. "I am glad to have Hieronymus around. He is a wonderful conversation partner."

"You never did tell me Lex took you out," Jean said suspiciously. "Wasn't aware Lex had a heart."

Amelie shot him another look. "Hieronymus is a good man. He simply gets carried away because you vex him so."

"Well, anyway. That is the long and ridiculous reason why I really shouldn't go venturing around a lot anymore," Jean said grandiosely. "Lest I end up in jail."

Amelie frowned worriedly. "I worry for the day you are caught, Jean. Almost every city in Cyrodiil has sent watch captains and guards to Bruma. And I won't even ask what your bounty has reached."

"That's why I let you and the Dunmer handle things in Bruma," Jean concluded.

"In any case," Amelie said. "I asked a favor, and Hieronymus obliged me. I am extremely grateful to have his help."

Martin leaned forward, rifling through his notes. "I see."

"I'm not through with you just yet!" Farwil reentered the room with a dazed look on his face, still flaunting his sword. "I—Amelie? My lady!"

Amelie looked at him, and then to Jean. Jean cleared his throat, staring Farwil down. _"Farwil_, that's enough," he said pointedly.

"Please control yourself, Farwil," Amelie said sternly. "The battlefield is better suited for that sort of behavior."

"Of course," Farwil said, sheathing his sword. "I never meant to worry your beautiful head."

Amelie took a deep breath as Jean's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue around my sister," he snapped.

Farwil's scowl turned to a frown. "Your... sister?" This appeared to be news to him.

"Yes, my sister. Keep talking and I won't hesitate to—"

"Hesitate to what, now? You and your dagger can—"

Amelie snapped her fingers. A green fog spiraled around both Jean and Farwil, silencing them both. Farwil crossed his arms and sat down beside Amelie in a huff, Jean doing much the same.

"Now that you are through acting like _children,"_ Amelie said. "Perhaps we can get some work done, Martin."

"On that note, I have another task," Martin said, looking up from the notes. "There are only two more things we need for the ritual."

"Oh? What next, then?" Amelie asked.

"We need a Great Welkynd Stone," Martin said. "They are rare Ayleid artifacts and are nearly impossible to find."

"Martin, we have already found Daedric relics and the blood of Talos himself," Amelie said. "At this point, impossible no longer has meaning."

"True. As far as I know, the only place where one can still be found is the Ayleid ruin of Miscarcand."

"Miscarcand?" Amelie pulled out her map, looking it over. "That... is quite a bit of travel."

"I know. But that is the only place I know of where you are sure to find one," Martin said. Amelie frowned.

"If I recall correctly, I have heard that the spirit of the last King of Miscarcand still guards it."

"I have heard that as well," Martin said anxiously. "This is a voyage that I insist must not be taken alone."

"I agree," Amelie said. "Hmm..."

"What are you thinking, Amelie?" Martin asked.

"As much as I hate to leave these two alone," Amelie said, indicating Jean and Farwil, "I get the impression that sending either or both of them is a bad idea."

"That's ridiculous, Amelie," Farwil said, the silencing spell wearing off. "I am perfectly capable of handling whatever's going on there."

"I'll stay," Jean said simply. Amelie looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure. I'm not about to leave you here alone without me," Jean said flatly. "Particularly not with this one around."

"Hey!" Farwil snapped.

"Then I will go," Amelie said.

"Martin's right, though, you're not going alone," Jean said.

"I'll go with you, Amelie," Farwil offered.

"No thank you, Farwil," Amelie said. "I think I will ask Hieronymus to accompany me."

"What? Why?" Martin demanded. Amelie stared at him.

"You are all busy. Jean has professed a desire to stay behind—"

_"I_ can go with you!"

"Sweet, but no thank you, Farwil," Amelie said again. "And it's not as though I can take you."

Caught off-guard, Martin fell silent.

"I see no reason to trouble any of you any further."

"Amelie..." Martin racked his brains, trying to think of a logical reason for her to stay.

"You need not worry so much, Martin," Amelie said, smiling warmly. "Adventuring is nothing new to me. I have repeatedly proven myself capable, and Hieronymus will be with me in the event that I need help."

"I'm not so sure I feel good about you going with Lex, either," Jean said pensively.

"Jean. I have not told Hieronymus, and I do not plan to," Amelie said. "I understand your concerns, but they are unfounded."

"Do you?" Jean asked. "Do you understand my _concerns_, Amelie Rose?"

Amelie rolled her eyes at him. "I will see if Hieronymus is ready to leave immediately," she said, getting up.

"Are you ready for that kind of trip?" Jean asked.

"I can handle it. Please, stop worrying so much, I am not a child," Amelie said. "We will be fine. And we _will_ return with a Great Welkynd Stone, Martin."

"I may have the Dragonborn blood in my veins, but you truly have the soul of a heroine, my dear," Martin said, apprehensive just the same. "I have faith in you."

Amelie beamed at him, just as Jean scowled darkly. "Thank you."

* * *

Amelie and Captain Lex set out that evening. With Amelie and her silencing spells gone, relations between Jean and virtually everyone else in Cloud Ruler Temple continued to strain. Farwil's constant presence did not aid matters. On the whole, the almost tangible tension in the Temple was more than distracting enough for Martin.

The recent outbursts from Jean and Farwil had stuck with him for far longer than they should have. Amelie's close relationship with Captain Lex occupied his mind as much as worry for Amelie herself. At times, he caught himself thinking of awful things that could happen to them, in which Amelie barely escaped but Lex did not. He thought it odd. Captain Lex had never done him wrong, he by all means seemed to be a good man. Besides that, Amelie was perfectly capable. As much as he knew that, he lived in constant fear of receiving news of her demise.

It finally occurred to him that perhaps Jean had been right to be angry with him.

Whatever the reason, Martin spent his days poring over the Mysterium Xarxes, and his sleepless nights thinking. Since he had entered the priesthood, such things had never been in the cards. But as the Emperor... an Emperor must have an Empress, right?

Well, as long as Jean was around, Martin supposed not. But what if... could Amelie...

Whenever his thoughts took this errant turn, Martin reminded himself that there were more important things to accomplish. Once the Empire's safety had been assured, more trivial things could be worried about.

But how trivial could it be, that it constantly plagued his thoughts so pervasively? How unimportant was it, that he pondered little else as he stared into the dark of the night? As hard as he pushed back against such thoughts, they always came back to sweep him away.

And sometimes, he let them.

* * *

Jean was frequently outside the temple, utilizing trees or empty helmets as targets. At times, he was downright unpleasant to be around. Ten days after Amelie and Captain Lex left, he instigated another fight. As Farwil was practicing his sword techniques in the courtyard, a black arrow whizzed just past Farwil's ear.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Farwil demanded, whipping around. Jean was sitting on the ramparts, bow in hand.

"Missed," Jean said, nonchalantly drawing another arrow from his quiver.

"Like I'll believe that, what are you playing at?"

"Just reminding you to watch your back," Jean said loftily. "I don't trust you."

"I couldn't care less how little you trust me," Farwil snapped. "I have nothing more to say to you."

"Good. Keep it that way, with me and Amelie Rose," Jean said, loosely fitting an arrow on his bowstring.

"I have HAD it with you!" Farwil charged at Jean, who quickly leapt up and aimed down at Farwil from the elevated rampart.

"You're outmatched, elf," Jean snarled. "I don't have to miss."

"And I don't have to put up with you!" Farwil snapped back, raising his shield. "You do realize that Amelie is free to make her decisions for herself, don't you!"

"I believe she's made it pretty damned clear that she wants nothing to do with you!" Jean retorted. "Take a hint or take a blow, your choice!"

_"That's it!"_

Farwil swung at Jean's knees, Jean jumped off the rampart, firing once he had landed. The arrow was buried in the ground, another whizzing right past Farwil's head. It lodged itself into the wall of Cloud Ruler Temple, attracting attention as the fight raged on. Forced into close combat, Jean pulled out his dagger, facing down Farwil until Jauffre arrived on the scene.

"What is going on here?" Jauffre demanded, roughly forcing Jean and Farwil apart. "STOP!"

"I am _sick and tired_ of this idiot bothering everyone!" Jean said, staring down Farwil.

"_Excuse_ me?" Farwil challenged. "_I'm_ bothersome? You shot an arrow at my head, you lowly mutt!"

"Yeah? Keep talking if you want one between the eyes!" Jean snapped, cocking his bow and aiming straight at Farwil's head.

"How _dare_ you speak to me in such a manner!" Farwil barked, redrawing his sword. Jauffre shoved the two apart again.

"That—is—_enough!"_ Jauffre asserted, yanking them apart again. "Stand down, both of you! Whatever petty squabble of yours brought this on, your attitudes have been nothing short of infuriating, and I will have none of it in Cloud Ruler Temple!"

Jean and Farwil glared at each other angrily. "I'm not going anywhere," Farwil insisted.

"On the contrary, Master Farwil. You don't belong here in the first place," Jauffre said, releasing Jean's collar and dragging Farwil towards the stairs.

"Absolutely not!" Farwil protested, struggling to free himself. "I will stay and protect Amelie!"

This elicited an outright laugh from Jauffre. "Farwil, Amelie did not become the heroine of the cities by needing protection," he pointed out.

"I WILL stay here!"

"Jauffre, Jean!"

They looked around. Baurus's head poked out from the Great Hall. He looked more worried than usual. "I don't know what kind of situation you've got going on, but you're going to want to get in here," he said.

"What's the matter?"

Jauffre dropped Farwil and hurried into the Great Hall, Jean and Farwil following suit. They entered to find Martin in full armor, looking grim.

"Martin... just what in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" Jean asked, putting up his bow and looking almost, _almost _ashamed. "We're not _that_ awful, are we?"

"Martin, please explain," Jauffre said. "I do hope you're not planning to do something drastic."

Martin steeled himself, unwilling to let this drag on. "The Mythic Dawn plan to open a Great Gate outside of Bruma."

"I am aware. We will not allow that," Jauffre said. "Jean, can you—"

_"Listen to me,"_ Martin said, overriding Jauffre. "We must let them."

"Brilliant," Farwil said. "We have the reinforcements. When is the Gate meant to open?"

"Farwil, don't encourage this!" Jean snapped. "Martin, I don't know how many men you plan to lose, but multiply that by the amount of people who were in Kvatch. There is no way a Great Gate is in any way conducive to a plan."

"There is no other way," Martin said firmly.

Jean crossed his arms, deep in thought.

"Look, I don't doubt whatever plan you've got, Martin," Baurus admitted. "But I don't think now is the best time."

"We must not delay," Martin said. "And we must be prepared."

"So I'll go rally the troops in Bruma," Farwil said.

"And we pray Amelie and Captain Lex get back before then," Jauffre added.

"No," Martin said firmly. "We may not have the time to wait."

"With all due respect, sire, there must be another way," Jauffre said worriedly. "The risk is too great!"

"I know the risk. I was at Kvatch," Martin reminded him. "But there is no other way, we have no choice."

Right on cue, Amelie and Captain Lex opened the doors to the Great Hall, their smiles of success turning to frowns of confusion.

Martin's face fell. He had hoped to get the Great Gate mission underway long before she returned. Seeing her with Captain Lex made him feel no better.

"Will someone please explain what has happened?" Amelie asked.


	16. Jean and Lex

**Jean and Lex**

Amelie and Lex entered the Hall, bewilderment etched on their faces.

"Is something the matter?" Lex asked uncertainly.

"Perhaps before we get into that," Amelie said quickly, rooting around in her bag and producing a brilliant blue stone. Jean silently crept towards the exit into the sleeping quarters, avoiding Captain Lex's line of sight.

"You got the stone?" Martin asked, amazed. Amelie smiled.

"I said we would get it."

"You did. I can count on you. I never thought to see a Great Welkynd Stone," Martin said, taking it from Amelie. The light it produced illuminated the pair of them through the cloth Amelie had wrapped it in. "As beautiful as... as all the old tales tell."

Jean scowled harshly at him on his way out as Martin placed the stone in a chest for safekeeping. "B-But of course, its beauty is a mask for its deadly power," Martin went on quickly.

"Much like you, Amelie," Farwil piped up.

Lex good-naturedly whacked Farwil upside the head. This did not appear to be a new development in their relationship, perhaps they had begun the exchange during Amelie's and Farwil's time spent in Bruma.

Ignoring them, Amelie fixed her eyes on Martin, concerned. "Martin, what's going on?" she asked. "I have never seen you in armor before."

"Now that we have the Welkynd Stone, we need only one more thing before we'll be ready to open a portal to Mankar Camoran's realm," Martin explained. "I should have seen it sooner. As the first two were the opposed powers of the daedra and the divines, the final item is the counterpart to the Great Welkynd Stone."

"And that is...?" Amelie asked, trying to put it together herself.

"A Great Sigil Stone," Martin told her. She frowned.

"What's the catch?" Lex asked.

"There must be a catch," Amelie agreed, suspicious. "I don't like where this is going."

"I never thought you would. Jauffre doesn't like it," Martin said. "And I am certain the Countess of Bruma won't like it either. Great Sigil Stones are the anchors of Great Gates, the kind of gate that the Mythic Dawn opened at Kvatch."

"The Mythic Dawn wants to open one in Bruma, then," Amelie inferred. "And... your plan is to _let_ them?"

"I _said_ you wouldn't like it."

"And now you know why I haven't taken to the plan," Jauffre cut in. "The risk is immense, sire."

"The risk is great, I know," Martin said, "but we have no choice. The only way to recover the Amulet of Kings is to allow the Mythic Dawn to proceed with their plan to attack Bruma."

Amelie immediately paled. "A Great Gate?" she asked. "Here. In Bruma."

"As soon as the Bruma guard stops closing Gates, the Great Gate will have a chance to form," Martin said. "We must let it happen."

Amelie sank down into a chair, Martin sat down opposite her.

"Martin, that... we'll be staring death in the face," she said incredulously. "You should know that better than anyone."

"I do know. The siege engine that comes will not be immediate, and if the Great Sigil Stone is pulled before it has a chance to exit, we should be safe."

Amelie watched him carefully. "You're certain?"

"Absolutely."

Amelie's shoulders drooped. "I don't suppose we can talk you out of it."

Martin shook his head. She fiddled with the end of her braid again, and finally seemed to decide.

"Hieronymus—"

"Yes?"

"Hieronymus, you and Farwil should go and form a plan with the rest of the Bruma garrison," she said, standing up and speaking so the whole of the Hall could hear. "If a Great Gate is coming, it will level the city unless we can handle it. Until the Gate opens and we can enter, Jean and I will lead the assault. Once we have gone in, Hieronymus—"

"I'll handle it," Lex said, standing at attention.

"No. No, I will lead the defense of Bruma myself," Martin said, standing as well. "I'm going."

"Martin, this mission is too dangerous for you to come," Amelie said, as though she thought he couldn't be serious. "You must stay in Cloud Ruler Temple, Jean and I will lead the attack."

"I agree," Lex said. "Sire, you need to stay safe."

_"No!"_ Martin insisted. "Amelie, I have been fretting to no end with you gone on all these missions for me, and I cannot allow you to continue to endanger yourself like this."

Her eyes glinted dangerously as she turned to look at him. "I hope you're not telling me to stay behind?" she pushed back. "Because if that is the case—"

"Of course not," Matin appended quickly, as much as he had hoped she would be receptive to remaining at the temple. "I will fight beside you."

"Martin, that is _far_ too dangerous!"

"Of course it's dangerous, and that is why I must come! If I do not act now, when I am needed, I will never be able to look you in the eye again and ask you to help me," Martin said firmly. "If I am to be Emperor, it is time I started acting like one."

"I... I agree," Jauffre said reluctantly.

"JAUFFRE—"

"I do not much like it," he said quickly. "But we're going to need all the help we can get if we intend to take down a Great Gate. It's well enough that we've got the reinforcements from the other cities, but—"

"No! Absolutely not," Amelie said, face white. "Martin, you must not put yourself in such danger! What if we lose you, what hope will we have then? As long as you stay—"

"I refuse to stand by and let you do this for me—"

"—then Jean and I will—"

"—_not_ allow you to go out while I stay—"

"—with a _siege engine_ and you want to head right into—"

"—the battle cannot be won from up here—"

"ENOUGH!" Amelie shouted, marching right up to him. "Martin, this is the most dangerous task you have yet posed us!" She glared up at him. "Do not make me worry for you more than I already do!"

"You would have me sit in this hall, watching you risk your life, and you would have me become Emperor that way? I will stand or fall beside you!"

_"At least_ do me the kindness of staying safe while we carry this out! You owe me that!"

_"I owe you nothing!"_ Martin bellowed angrily.

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Amelie flinched and backed away from him.

"As you command."

Martin took a deep breath, feeling the anger leave him as he looked at her. "Please, my dear, I need your judgment, not your obedience. I explain myself to you so you understand me. And so you can explain to the Countess."

Amelie crossed her arms, disconcerted. "I will be asking the Countess to allow a Daedric siege engine to descend on Bruma. One that we are not entirely sure we can stop."

Martin nodded, taking a deep breath. "We have no other choice."

Amelie studied the floor for a moment before continuing.

"Hieronymus?" she said, eyes still fixed on the wooden planks.

"Yes, Amelie?" Lex asked, stepping forward.

"Please... take Farwil with you back to Bruma, and rally the troops," she said. "Start evacuating the city if you can, we must minimize loss of life. Jean and I will go to the Countess, I do not think I can manage that alone."

Lex placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We're not alone, Amelie. None of us will be standing alone. If we have to give battle, I'm glad it's now."

Amelie looked up at last, a grim smile on her face.

"I suppose I agree."

"Have the Countess meet me in the Chapel of Talos for a council of war," Martin said. "That seems a fitting place to make such desperate plans."

"Desperate, without question," Amelie said, nodding. "Jean, if you... Jean?"

She looked around, apparently not having noticed that he had ditched the meeting several minutes ago.

"I will fetch him," Jauffre said, approaching the door Jean had left through. "I'm not sure why he left."

Lex beat him to it, opening the door to find a wide-eyed Jean.

"Wait... I know you!"

Caught, Jean put his hands. "AGH—Gods... dammit, fine. You caught me. Lex, can we not do this right now?" Jean asked, exasperated. "There're other things to do, and—"

"You have violated the law!" Lex snapped, sword at the ready. "Your stolen goods are now forfeit!"

"What?" Jauffre and Baurus, both dumbfounded, moved aside without a fuss as Amelie stepped between Lex and her brother. "Stolen...?"

"Hieronymus, please," she begged. "I think this Great Gate situation rather takes priority—"

"How long have the Blades been harboring this criminal?" Lex asked, unwilling to stand down. Jean backed up against the wall, cornered.

"Lex, would you just calm down for one damned second—"

"Arrest him at once!" Lex ordered.

"We are not an arm of the government," Jauffre said, a dire expression on his face all the same. "We answer only to the Emperor."

"Then I suppose Cloud Ruler Temple is a Thieves Guild Hall?" Lex demanded. "Or maybe the Gray Fox has finally gotten someone installed here as a mole!"

Amelie looked caught between tears and anger. "Jean is a loyal servant of the Empire," she insisted. "Do not speak of my brother in such a way!"

Jean gently pushed her aside, out of Lex's line of fire. He faced Lex down himself, looking more annoyed than anything.

"Amelie Rose, it's ok," he said. "I can take it."

"A confession?" Lex laughed. "I'm sure the Bruma jail will be willing to take you in."

"Look, I can definitely afford to pay my bounty, if that's the question," Jean said, stepping forward and challenging Lex. "But I'm not going to prison, not now!"

"And just what makes you think that, criminal scum?" Lex barked.

_"No one_ is going to prison!" Martin shouted over the pair of them, approaching them. "Stand down, Captain Lex."

"But sire—"

_"Stand down,"_ Martin repeated. "The Empire has forgiven Jean for whatever crimes he has committed. He is a loyal member of the Blades, and has been instrumental in the war against Oblivion. To imprison him is to imprison our last hopes."

Reluctantly, Lex sheathed his sword, still looking darkly at Jean. "You've won this round, _thief_," Lex growled. "But if you fall back out of line—"

"I know, I know, clap 'im in irons," Jean said, nettled. He turned to Amelie as Lex continued to glare angrily at him. "Amelie Rose, did you want to change?"

"Hm?... oh. Yes, now that you mention it," Amelie said, the task at hand returning to the forefront of the conversation. "Good thinking. A Great Gate..."

"Shall we go on, or...?" Jauffre broke off.

"Go on ahead. We will see you again shortly, I'm sure," Amelie said as she and Jean withdrew to their room.

* * *

Jean and Amelie left after speaking with the Countess to meet with Martin at the Chapel. Amelie shivered in the cold, not meant for the light blouse and breeches she was wearing.

"Wonder how many Gates they've closed?" Jean wondered aloud, trying to break the tension.

"Far too many, I'm sure."

"Or maybe not enough." Jean turned to look at his sister. She looked tired and a little underwhelmed, considering the circumstances.

"Is everything all right, Jean?" she asked uneasily.

"Look, why don't you go back to Cloud Ruler Temple?" Jean asked. "You haven't had any time to rest since you and Lex got back from your trip to Miscarcand."

"I don't see you so concerned over _him_," she said pointedly.

Jean glared at her.

"If this battle cannot wait, then neither shall I," Amelie said. "The world will not stop for us. As long as the Empire needs me, I will go."

"Don't be foolish, Amelie Rose," Jean warned. "The last thing I want is for you to get killed out there."

"The last thing _anyone_ wants is a casualty," Amelie said rationally. "But I will gladly die by Martin's side, if that is what it'll take to win this war."

Jean scowled out at the snow, pulling his helmet over his head. Amelie nudged him with her elbow.

"Why the face?"

"How do you feel about Martin?" Jean asked.

"About Martin?"

"...Y'know, being the Emperor."

Amelie thought for a moment, carefully constructing a response. "I'm simply glad that he is alive, and can claim the throne," Amelie said. "I realize that this is hardly the best of circumstances in which to become a ruler, but... were he not alive, the Empire would surely be in ruins by now."

"We're not out of the woods yet," Jean reminded her. "If Martin dies now, the Empire may still fall."

Amelie frowned. "Jean, please do not think of what would happen if Martin were to die. All things considered, I would prefer he remain alive and well."

Amelie entered the Chapel.

"Wait, what _all things_ did you _consider_ in passing that judgment, Amelie Rose?" Jean demanded, following her inside.

The captains of the respective city reinforcement troops were all gathered in the Chapel with Martin, Baurus, and Jauffre when Jean and Amelie arrived. Raminus and Lex both stepped forward when they arrived.

"Swear to Stendarr and all the rest, I didn't steal anything from the Countess," Jean sighed, hands up. "Back off."

"Archmage," Raminus said coolly.

"Master-Wizard."

"Before my arrival here, I spoke with the remaining members of the Council of Mages," Raminus said. "Chancellor Ocato was... trying, at best."

"We _did_ know he would be," Amelie said absently.

"We did. Although I understand Chancellor Ocato is busy with the Elder Council as well as serving on the Council of Mages, I would like you and Emperor Martin to know that you have our complete support."

Amelie smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Raminus."

"The Fighters Guild is behind Emperor Martin, one hundred percent," Modryn added, stepping forward. "We will see that this war is ended, swiftly and without loss."

"What does the Gray Fox say about it?" Lex asked distastefully. Jean shot him the blackest of looks.

"He's on Martin's side. No Empire means no one left to steal from. Surely you can understand why we don't want that to happen," Jean spat at him.

The Countess arrived a short while later, accompanied by Captain Burd of the Bruma guard.

"Bruma does not stand alone, Countess," Jauffre said, speaking up as the Countess entered the Chapel. "Archmage Azarath has gathered troops from all over Cyrodiil to aid us."

"You are a diplomat as well as a warrior, it seems!" Countess Narina said, beaming at Amelie. "I would prefer more men, of course, but if we must offer battle now, so be it."

"We will keep Bruma safe, if it costs us our lives," Lex said resolutely.

"Your champions have already explained the situation to me," the Countess told Martin. "And I have agreed to it. We will not win this war through caution."

"You have a rare gift, to know when desperation is in the path of wisdom," Martin told her. "I will do everything in my power to protect your city and close the Gate, my lady."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Jean interjected suddenly. "Just to be clear... Martin, you're not going in that Gate."

"Of course I am," Martin said. "I thought I had made that clear?"

"If that was part of the arrangement, I have severely misheard," Amelie said, alarmed. "Martin, you must realize that you are risking a great deal by even stepping onto the battlefield. While I am not keen on that alone, I _cannot_ allow you to enter the Gate itself, I will hold you back myself if I must."

"I agree," Jean said. "Martin, you've never been in an Oblivion plane before. It's nothing like Cyrodiil, or Tamriel, even. Amelie Rose and I can handle it, we've been there before and come back alive."

"But—"

"Martin, please," Amelie implored. "Even allowing this siege is unsettling enough. At least put my mind at ease knowing that you will not follow us into the Gate."

"Look at it this way," Jean put in helpfully. "You're less likely to get yourself killed if you stay outside the giant daedra-spawning gate to the Deadlands. All right?"

Martin reluctantly nodded. "All right... all right. But you must come back alive."

"We'll come back with that Great Sigil Stone," Jean said. "I can tell you that much."

"Burd! Deploy the troops for battle!" the Countess announced. The gathered captains let out a cheer.

"Come on, Amelie Rose," Jean said nervously. "This isn't going to be easy."

"No one ever said it would be," Amelie pointed out.

* * *

To Martin's great surprise, what appeared to be the entirety of Bruma awaited them in the city. They cheered as he passed them, shouting his name. He heard Amelie speak from behind him.

"Hieronymus, I asked you to evacuate them," she said softly.

"None of them will leave," Lex replied. "Where would we send them, into the wilderness?"

Amelie pursed her lips. "If Bruma falls, they will have no choice."

They fell silent, footsteps crunching in the snow.

"How much time until the Great Gate forms?" Lex asked.

"I think it safest to assume it's already here."

"Assume the worst?"

"Assume the worst and hope for the best," Jean said. "At least this way, we can still be pleasantly surprised if there's only one Gate open."

"I cannot imagine how you must feel right now, Martin," Amelie said, suddenly directing her words at him.

Martin nodded, grim. "It is a unique position that I find myself in."

She smiled, quickening her steps to catch up to him. "Please, be sure all this power does not go to your head, else your helmet will not fit."

Despite the situation, Martin could not help but smile.


	17. The Great Gate

**The Great Gate**

The soldiers of Bruma were already standing down, a Gate beginning to open in the middle of the field outside the walls of the city. They stood anxiously as the rest of the troops arrived with Martin and the two siblings. They did not have much time.

"This is really happening," Jean breathed. "We are gonna die."

Amelie hit him with her staff. "You must not say such things," Amelie insisted.

"Then don't make it easier," Jean snapped back. "Don't hit me, hit them!"

Lex grinned. "Not to worry," he told Jean. "I'm sure when we're through here, Olav will give anyone in armor drinks on the house."

Clearly uncomfortable with Lex's sudden change of tack, Jean crossed the battlefield to find a better vantage point.

Martin surveyed the troops, seeing his own anxiety reflected in their faces. This would not be easy. He tried to compose himself, to speak to them, to reassure them... something, anything.

"Soldiers of Cyrodiil!" Martin called out across the assembled troops, marching before them. "The Empire will stand or fall by what we do here today! Will we let the daedra do to Bruma what they did to Kvatch? Will we let them burn our homes? Will we let them kill our families? No! We make our stand here, today, for the whole of Cyrodiil!"

The soldiers cheered.

"We must hold fast until the Heroes of Kvatch can destroy their Great Gate. We must kill whatever comes out of that Gate!" He drew his sword. "Soldiers of Cyrodiil, do you stand with me?"

Martin became vaguely aware of Jean raising his bow as various battle cries went up around the assemblage of soldiers. An arrow shot past him, hitting a daedroth straight in the face.

"Martin, _put that helmet on!"_ Jean barked at him, backing up onto a higher ledge, the better to snipe off daedra. The Gate began pouring out daedra. The battle for Bruma had begun.

The daedra were innumerable, the flow of enemies did not stop. The battle grew so hectic, it became hard to tell who was who. Captains gave up all attempts to give orders, every man and woman on the field scrambling to keep their lives.

Amelie roamed freely through the field of battle, casting spells and throwing lightning with the focus of a master. Jean remained near the back of the battlefield, taking every shot he could as the second gate rumbled into existence, right beside the first. As true a marksman as ever, he landed every shot without fail.

"Amelie Rose, where are you?" he shouted.

"Here!" Amelie was in the thick of the battle, fighting off spider daedra and storm atronachs.

"Behind you!" Lex cut down a daedroth lunging for Amelie's head.

"Thank you," she said quickly, shooting a lightning spell at a pair of claymore-wielding xivilai.

"We must keep each other safe," Lex said, swinging his own claymore at a few oncoming dremora. "I will not let you die."

Meanwhile, Martin was finding battle difficult. Swordplay was not his forte, and he was sorely regretting the choice of armor and sword over his familiar robes and spells. The armor did not fit well, causing him pain when he moved. The constant whirl of daedra and soldiers was daunting, and the fighting never paused. There was no way out but through, he supposed. It was all he could do to keep fighting.

Another rumbling shook the battlefield. The Great Gate rose into existence, sending out bursts of light and flames.

"JEAN!" Amelie shouted, vaulting over a pair of dremora to avoid a spectacular collision. "Jean, come on!"

"Let's go!" Jean sprinted down from his vantage point atop the rocks, sniping a stray daedroth on his way through to the Gate.

Before Martin had time to say something, anything, to shout encouragement or warnings, Amelie and Jean had both leapt into the gate and were out of sight. They had no time to dwell on it, as the daedra kept coming. Soldiers fell all around him, the pace of the battle forcing them to keep moving.

White-hot pain collided with him, a blast of heat sending him skidding forward. The whole back of his armor burned through to his skin, the pain driving him down to his knees to recover.

Jauffre rounded on the xivilai that had sent the flames, cutting the demon down in as fewer strokes than Martin had ever thought possible for a man of Jauffre's age. Blood ran down the side of Jauffre's face, as much as that on on his sword. He was clearly not Grandmaster of the Blades for nothing.

"Are you all right, sire?" Jauffre asked, turning to fend off a sprinting pack of clannfears as Martin forced himself back up.

He wasn't, but it wasn't as though the battle would stop for him to recover. "Fine!" Martin said, raising his sword again to help drive back the daedra.

Gradually, the flow of daedra slowed. Once it had reduced to a slow trickle of clannfears and scamps, the soldiers allowed themselves to relax a little. Captains took a quick head count, taking note of deaths to be reported back home. Casualties littered the battlefield, of men and women, and of daedra alike.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Farwil asked, wiping his brow.

"Yes... yes, fine," Martin lied again, staring into the Great Gate. Well, at least Farwil was alive. What joy. "I worry for Amelie and Jean."

Farwil frowned distastefully. "Nothing to do but wait, I suppose."

Minute by excruciating minute passed. The soldiers stood ready and waiting, eyes trained on the Great Gate. Occasionally, someone fidgeted.

"Martin, how long do we have before the siege engine arrives?" Jauffre asked nervously, sword still at the ready. "I fear for every minute that passes without incident."

"I don't know," Martin admitted. "But I cannot imagine it will be much longer than this..."

A few more minutes passed, then a few more.

"Do not let your guard down!" Martin shouted across the remaining troops. "We must be ready for anything!"

Finally, something began to happen. As the remaining troops readied their weapons against thin air, the ground began to shake. Everyone turned to look at the Great Gate, hoping to see a friendly face.

"What's that?" Baurus asked. "It..."

"Oh, no."

The fiery tip of a siege engine was emerging from the Gate.

"Ready your weapons!" Baurus shouted.

"Have they failed?" Lex wondered aloud, sword at the ready.

"Prepare for the worst," Martin said, seized by fear. Would they lose Bruma? Had they lost Amelie and Jean?

As suddenly as the plan crumbled, it reassembled. The Gate collapsed atop the siege engine, breaking it to pieces. A handful of dremora, a rogue scamp, and the two Azaraths came tumbling headfirst out of the gate. The soldiers immediately disposed of the daedra, and began to celebrate.

"They've done it! The Emperor and the Heroes of Kvatch!"

"The Gate is closed! Bruma is safe!"

The troops cheered and congratulated one another, offering thanks and praise to Martin and Jauffre. Lex and Farwil immediately turned and ran towards the Azaraths, bringing Martin's attention back down to earth.

"Amelie! Jean! Are you all right?"

Amelie was sitting on the ground next to Jean, shaking him and shouting. Martin and Jauffre approached with caution, fearing the worst. Farwil had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Please... gods, no," Baurus breathed, looking at Jean.

"JEAN! JEAN CHRISTOPHE!" Amelie wailed.

Jean was not moving.

Slowly, the soldiers of Cyrodiil quieted. Jean Christophe, the Hero of Bruma, had fallen.

"Amelie Rose..." Jauffre paused, lost for words. "I... am sorry. This loss is great. I am sure he fought bravely."

Amelie was not listening, too distraught and wracked by sobs to listen to the Grandmaster or to anyone else. Blood and tears fell from her face onto Jean's useless doublet, the dead grass beneath them soaked with red.

Slowly, the remaining soldiers of the cities dispersed, taking count of the dead and rallying whoever was left. Lex and Farwil stayed behind as the rest left, unsure what to do.

Martin sheathed his sword and cast off his gauntlets, blood running down his fingers where the ill-fitting steel had cut him. He knelt down beside her, taking off his helmet and gazing into Jean's empty eyes. The neutrality of death made Jean look happier than he had ever been in life, even with open wounds on his face and neck.

"Amelie...?"

Amelie was nearly hyperventilating, her entire body trembled with each agonizing sob. He sat in silence with her for several long moments, lost for words as she grieved her brother.

"We can bury Jean outside Cloud Ruler Temple," he suggested, reaching out to close Jean's eyes, blood dropping from his hands onto the dead face of the Fox. "Beside Anna Marie."

Her eyes squeezed shut. She slowly nodded, and gave Jean's shoulder a final half-hearted shake. Martin got up, offering her his hand. She took it, but resisted his attempts to help her up.

"Amelie?"

Amelie let out a cry of pain, her hand flying to her side. Martin noticed that the beige of her blouse suddenly matched the deep red of her breeches. She fell back against the remains of the Gate, conscious but fading fast. "AMELIE!"

"Get us a healer!" Lex shouted to those who remained. "Amelie needs aid, _now!"_

"Get the Mages Guild," Jauffre said urgently. "Tell them—"

"Can't, the Bruma guild hall went up in flames a month or two ago, all killed," Baurus reeled off. "The Countess has healers in the Chapel, if we can get her there, I'm sure they can take care of her."

Martin slid his arm under her knees, the burns on his back protesting his every move as he lifted her off the ground. She searched his face, a look of terrified confusion on her face.

"My dear, it's me," he said quickly, recognizing the lostness in her eyes. "Martin."

She mouthed his name back at him as though it meant nothing, breathing heavily.

"Do not worry," he told her shakily, carying her back towards Bruma. "I am taking you to the Chapel... the healers will help you."

Amelie's eyes slid in and out of focus, finally fluttering closed as she passed out. Her head fell to hit the steel pauldrons of his armor, and again he regretted wearing it at all.

"I've got Jean," Baurus said, hoisting Jean's body over his shoulders. "We can give him a proper burial back at Cloud Ruler."

"We must hold off on anything ceremonial," Martin said firmly. "Amelie must be there."

"I agree," Jauffre said. "Come, let's go."

The trip back to the Chapel was met with jubilation. When asked where they might find the Heroes of Bruma to congratulate and thank them, Jauffre swiftly redirected their attention to the lateness of the hour. A few of the citizens caught a glimpse of Jean's body or Amelie's blood, and immediately sent panic through the city.

"So much for that," Baurus said softly as they reached the Chapel. "I'm going to go on ahead."

"Thank you, Baurus."

"Oh!" The Countess greeted them at the door to the Chapel, her joy at their return severely dampened as she saw the damage. "What happened? Archmage—"

"She is alive," Martin said. "Jean passed away in the battle."

Countess Narina put a hand to her heart. "My—I—we must help her," she said quickly. "While we still can."

"I will stay here with her," Martin said, carefully laying Amelie down on a bedroll the priests set out for her.

"Sire, you're pretty badly injured as well," Baurus pointed out.

"So I will stay!"

"We can care for you at the temple, where it's safer," Jauffre said. "The healers here have their hands full."

"I'll stay," a ghostly pale Lex said. The healers got up, looking her over and forming a plan.

"I-I will stay as well," Farwil said. He was immediately repelled by an angry-looking Lex.

"Get back to camp, soldier," Lex snapped, taking a seat in one of the pews of the temple. "I'm sure the _last_ thing Amelie wants to see when she wakes up is _you."_

"Wh-What? You—ow!"

"Thank you, Captain Lex," Jauffre said, bodily turning Farwil around. "Come on. Farwil, Martin."

Martin reluctantly tore his eyes away from the healers, pausing to search through Amelie's bag. Within it was the Great Sigil Stone.

Technically... another victory.


	18. The Path of Solitude

**The Path of Solitude**

Jauffre raided Amelie's room and table for potions and ingredients, whipping up whatever he could to help the forces of Cloud Ruler Temple recover. They ran through her entire stock of burn salve and restoration potions in minutes. As soon as Martin was out of his armor and able to freely move, he cast every single healing spell he knew on anyone who needed it, taking some dose of potion that Baurus gave him for the pain.

Lex returned with Amelie hours later, just as the sun was beginning to rise. She was rather heavily bandaged and required the support of either her staff or another person to walk, but was at least alive.

"Maybe we should have sent for a horse..."

"That's not necessary."

"Don't strain yourself too much, Amelie," Lex said gently, helping her up the mountain path.

"I know, Hieronymus," Amelie said, her voice breaking. "I simply... my brother..."

Lex's brow furrowed. "I am sorry, Amelie. Truly. I would never have wished this on anyone."

They met Martin, Jauffre, and Baurus by the burial site, Anna Marie's grave looking old and weathered next to Jean's freshly dug tomb. A few of the remaining Blades had also gathered around the burial site, watching stoically as Amelie laid Jean's helmet and bow on his grave, surprisingly dry-eyed.

"He was a brilliant man," Jauffre said.

Baurus nodded in agreement. "He will be missed by all of Cyrodiil."

Amelie and Lex stayed by the graves as Jauffre, Baurus, and the other Blades made their way back to the Temple. Martin stayed behind as well, concerned.

"What will you do now, Hieronymus?" Amelie asked, her voice lackluster.

"I'm moving the troops back to Anvil later today," Lex told her. "Unless you would rather we stay."

Amelie's eyes remained fixed on the grave. "I hate to say that the worst is behind us, only because I fear being proven wrong," she said. "But I cannot imagine something worse than this."

Lex nodded. "We'll stay until given the word," he said, placing an arm around her shoulders. "Amelie... I'll stay with you, if you like."

Amelie wavered on the spot for a moment before turning to cry into Lex's shoulder. Lex held her gently, his face tired and troubled.

"You'll be all right, my friend," he said. "I know you. You'll get through this, somehow."

Amelie broke away from him, brushing away tears. "Somehow... somehow. I don't know how."

"Don't worry," Lex told her. "Believe me. We'll all find a way through this."

Lex left to return to Bruma, his gait betraying his exhaustion. Amelie sat down in the snow, studying the two graves.

"Amelie...?" Martin carefully approached her.

"A sword and shield, and a helmet and bow... all that is left of them is what failed to protect them," Amelie said grimly. "I wonder what I shall leave behind for my own."

"Amelie! Please, do not say such things," Martin said. "My dear, Cyrodiil still needs you. I still need you."

Amelie nodded, getting up with the help of her staff. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes. The Sigil Stone was the last piece—"

"Good. Then I will go into Camoran's Paradise immediately." Amelie started off for the Temple, a hard, resigned look on her face as she leaned on her mage's staff.

"Wh-What? No! No, no, Amelie, you need to rest," Martin said, catching up to her. "Until you can walk without assistance—"

"I will go immediately," she said firmly, shouldering open the door to the Great Hall.

"Go where, immediately?" Jauffre asked, looking alarmed. "I do hope you mean _to bed,_ Amelie Rose."

"Amelie, I will not allow you to endanger yourself further today," Martin said, moving in front of her to block her path. "Going into Camoran's Paradise will require preparation and planning, we must be careful and take all the time we need!"

"Amelie, Martin is right," Jauffre said. "Camoran's Paradise is not something to take lightly. Don't you think we've had enough insanity for one day?"

"I am _not_ underestimating Mankar Camoran," Amelie insisted. "Madness or not, I wish to get this over and done with, and—"

"Anything worth doing is worth doing well," Jauffre reminded her. "We only have one shot at retrieving the Amulet, and we cannot waste it by sending you in unprepared. Now that you go alone, we cannot afford any mistakes."

"Jauffre—"

_"Rest!"_ Jauffre shouted over her. "Sleep. Today was..."

He broke off. Amelie glared at him, daring him to qualify the day.

"We must reflect on today before even considering how to tackle Camoran's Paradise," Jauffre finished. "You need to heal, and we all need to seriously prepare."

Defeated, she left without further word.

"You need your rest as well, sire," Jauffre added. "Really, I suppose we all do. I'm glad that's over with."

"As am I," Martin agreed with a sigh. "But I fear we are not through this yet."

"We are _far_ from through this," Jauffre said. "We must take heart, though. We may not be finished, but we're getting closer."

* * *

Martin did not see Amelie for the rest of the day. Most of Cloud Ruler Temple was still recovering from the battle, and Martin was as well. He could not lean back in his chair without aggravating the angry red burns on his back, and he could scarcely hold anything in his hands. Still, he counted himself lucky: at least he could walk.

He woke late that night to the sounds of battle. The sun had long since set, and he vaguely wondered if he was merely remembering the battle for Bruma. When the nearby sounds of breaking glass and furniture added to the mix, he scrambled out of bed, panicking. The sounds were coming from Amelie's room...?

_"Amelie!"_

Dashing down the hall, he crashed into Farwil, who had apparently had the same thoughts.

"Y-You—Martin?"

"HELP!"

Martin threw open the door to Amelie's room. The candles and fireplace were dark, making it difficult to see. The remnant particles of a spell illuminated a horrible sight: Amelie, backed into a corner, a formidable wraith closing in her with Jean's dagger in hand. Amelie was frantically firing spell after spell at it, to very little effect.

"AMELIE!"

Farwil drew his sword, charging at and narrowly missing the wraith. Martin shot frost at it, allowing Amelie to escaped from the corner. She took refuge behind the remains of a bookshelf as the wraith slashed the dagger in her direction. The shelf cracked and split in two, its contents sliding down to the floor as she screamed.

Her aim shaky, Amelie cast a powerful lightning spell, causing sparks to fly from the various metal alchemical tools she had in the room. Martin ducked out of the way as a retort full of some purple liquid burst, its contents gelling into a ball on the torched surface of her work desk.

Farwil struck out at the wraith, his blade glancing off its skull. He dodged as the wraith turned around and aimed at him next. Martin threw a ball of fire at it, receiving the brunt of a blow from the wraith's dagger. It slashed him across the face and sent him staggering backwards. Martin let out a yell of pain as his burns collided with the wall.

"What's going on—WHOA!"

Baurus hit the ground to avoid the wraith's anger, having come to investigate the source of the ruckus as well. He drew his sword, sizing up the situation and grabbing a broken chair to improvise a shield.

Amelie and Martin cast spell after spell, slowly chipping away at the wraith's resistance. Farwil and Baurus both attacked with all their might, but to absolutely no avail. With a final blast of fire from Martin and Amelie, the wraith sank down to the floor.

The wraith shrieked out as it disintegrated. _"Sithis is most displeased!..."_ The wraith vanished, leaving a scorch mark in the wood where it had been. Jean's dagger glowed red, and vanished along with the wraith.

Visibly shaken, Amelie stumbled back against the wall for support. Martin leaned heavily against the remains of the bookshelf, fighting back tears of pain. Clearly, he was not cut out for this life.

"What in Oblivion was that thing?" Baurus asked, sheathing his sword and helping an upended Farwil to his feet.

"I don't know," Amelie said truthfully. "It appeared out of nowhere. I thought it was a nightmare, but..." She trailed off.

Farwil frowned, thinking. "Sithis... Was Jean involved in the Black Hand?" he asked.

Amelie's eyes grew wide. "Never," she said immediately. "No, he couldn't be, he is a Knight Brother. He would never serve..."

The sound of sprinting came from the halls as Jauffre ran up to the door. "What's going on?" he demanded, looking around. His expression of panic turned to one of confusion, then to disbelief as he shook his head.

"Jauffre," Baurus started.

"Explain yourselves," Jauffre said simply. "Now."

"This is NOT what it looks like," Farwil said immediately, sheathing his sword. Jauffre scrutinized him distrustfully.

"I should hope not. This is unacceptable!"

As it dawned on him exactly _what_ this could look like, Martin turned red. "Jauffre, we were... th-there was a ghost, a wraith. With Jean's dagger."

"It was attacking Amelie!" Farwil supplied helpfully. "We were only helping!"

Jauffre frowned at him, then surveyed the damage. "And a wraith caused all this?"

"Yes," Amelie said, stepping forward. "I could not say where it came from. But I believe the wraith would have been impossible to defeat on my own."

"It spoke of Sithis as it vanished," Farwil said. Amelie shot him a glare.

"I see." Jauffre paused, pensive. "I wonder..."

"What?"

"If the wraith was the Wrath of Sithis," Jauffre said. "Sent after defecting members of the Dark Brotherhood, I believe. Perhaps Jean was in a tight spot with them?"

"It did _say_ Sithis, Amelie," Farwil pointed out knowingly. "You cannot deny that."

Amelie shook her head in disbelief, pale.

"I cannot discount the possibility of Jean's involvement with them," Jauffre said honestly. "I have always been a little suspicious of what he does while he's gone. But whatever the reason, the wraith is gone, too. It will be no of further threat to us."

"At least, it shouldn't be," Baurus said reflectively. "Come on... let's get back to sleep."

"Amelie, if you like, I will sleep with you tonight," Farwil offered.

"No," Amelie said flatly.

"But Amelie, I want to keep you sa—"

_"No!"_ Amelie repeated, shoving him towards the door after Jauffre.

Baurus, taking the hint on his behalf, grabbed Farwil's arm and pulled him the rest of the way out of the room without further word. Amelie leaned heavily against the windowsill, still shaky from the day's events and injuries.

"Amelie?" Martin asked cautiously. "Amelie, are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yes, I... I think so," she said, out of breath. "Are you?"

Martin brushed blood off his cheek. "Fine."

"Do not lie to me, Martin," she said, looking him up and down. "What happened?"

"It's just a cut," he said, trying to shrug.

Amelie glowered at him. "Do not lie. How do you expect me to help you if you hide things from me?"

He closed his eyes; maybe she could really fix it. "Burns," he said. "From... from earlier."

"Let me see."

"Wha—"

"Sit." She waved him over to the bed. "Let me have a look."

He hesitated a moment before complying, sitting beside her and turning away, pulling off his shirt. He heard a sharp intake of breath. "Are they bad?" he asked fearfully.

A pause.

"Do not lie to me," he echoed.

"...Yes," she said reluctantly. "What have you done for them?"

"Baurus gave me something for the pain."

"What did he give you?"

Martin threw up his hands. "Something," he repeated.

"Gods be _damned_, Martin!" she snapped at him. "You must take care of yourself! Just, just... wait here. I will be right back, I need..."

She shoved herself up from the bed, seizing her mage's staff for support. "I need to fetch my, my... where's Jauffre taken...?"

"Somewhere in the Great Hall," Martin said. "Amelie, I can fetch—"

"No, no." She shook her head, limping out the door with her staff. "The _last_ thing I need is for Farwil to catch you coming out of my room without a shirt on."

He bit back a laugh and sat in awkward silence, listening to the rhythmic thumping of her mage's staff as it helped her around the Great Hall.

A few minutes later, voices came down the hall.

"...still doing up?"

"Martin's burns are _awful_, how could you not send him to me?"

"You were worse! He said they felt better after—"

"Of course he _said_ that! Gods' sake, Baurus, do you want him to lose the skin off his back?"

Martin's breath caught in his throat. Amelie came back inside, her free arm laden with her alchemy gear.

"Amelie, am I truly in danger of—"

She shook her head. "Relax. I can handle it," she assured him.

She went straight to work, throwing ingredients into the mix for a recipe she clearly knew well.

"How did you get them?" she asked.

"Xivilai," he said. "Burst of flames."

"And over that armor..." She crushed something in her mortar and pestle, pouring the liquid into the bottle. It let out a small puff of steam as she set it aside to work on something else.

"Where did you learn alchemy?" Martin asked curiously.

"I only really began to _study_ it once I joined the Mages Guild," she said, measuring out a spoonful of some kind of plant pulp.

They fell silent again as Amelie continued working, brewing together a few bottles of different potions.

"Are those _all_ for me?" Martin asked as Amelie brought them over.

"Yes," she said, setting them on the scorched nightstand and sitting down on the bed. She pulled her injured leg up onto the bed, the better to kneel behind him while she worked.

"How is your leg faring?" he asked, wondering if her priorities were skewed in his favor.

"Fine. _Healing,"_ she said pointedly. "It hurts, but it's taken care of. Now, we must get you there as well."

He stared ahead, listening to her uncork one of the bottles.

"Try to hold still," she instructed.

A moment later, his burns stung under whatever Amelie was pouring over them. His back arched and he inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to swear.

"How's that?" asked Amelie.

"Different," he choked out.

"Better?"

He shook his head.

"That's all right. Good. It means it's working," she said reassuringly, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"If I am healing, should it not feel _better?"_ he asked bitterly.

"We'll get there. Trust me."

Whatever came next felt like hot wax, being poured down his spine. White-hot pain seared his nerves and he let out a yell, balling up the sheets of the bed in his hands as he seized in pain.

"Hang in there," Amelie said soothingly, gripping his shoulder. "Almost done, all right? Hold on."

She started rubbing his skin with what he was certain had to be boiling water. He doubled forward as stinging shots of pain worked their way out from her fingers, gasping for breath and trying his best to hold still by burying his face in the sheets.

The longer she worked, the less it hurt. It didn't feel _good_ by any stretch of the imagination, but it at least no longer felt like his spine was being ripped from his body.

After what had to be hours and hours of agony, Martin felt her tug gently on his shoulder to sit him back up. He resisted, still breathing heavily into the sheets from the pain.

"That's it," she said softly. "I promise. We're done."

Martin stayed in the sheets, not entirely certain that his skin would not split open were he to move.

"I _said_ they were bad."

Martin gave a hollow laugh. "You did."

"Come on."

He felt her hand lacing her fingers in with his, and squeezed tightly in response despite the pain. She pulled him up slowly, and to his relief, his skin felt whole.

"Does that feel better?" she asked, watching him cautiously stretch and move his arms about.

"Y-Yes," he said shakily. "Much. Thank you."

"Now what have you done to your hands?" she asked, pulling his hand over his shoulder to look at it.

"Ow!"

"Gods' sakes. What did you do?" she asked sternly, releasing him.

He stared at the cuts, shaking his head. "Nothing! The armor just—just didn't fit, and it was..." He broke off, shrugging. Amelie had shoved herself back up, and stopped in the middle of the room. "What now?"

She did not respond, looking around the room, lost. "What...?"

Martin's heart sank. With both Anna Marie and Jean gone from the world, how would she manage alone? He swallowed hard, trying to divine what she had forgotten. "Bag?" he tried.

She turned to search it, the look of frustration still on her face. "No," she breathed, unsatisfied. Amelie stood back up, biting her lip as she fought back whatever took hold of her mind.

"Amelie..." There were no words. How could he help her if she herself could not say what she needed?

She squeezed her eyes shut, angry, suddenly hurling a ball of frost towards the window. It froze the glass, sending spiralling trails of ice creeping outwards.

"Amelie!" Martin got to his feet, alarmed. She turned around, again searching his face. Her anger faded as recognition and sadness came over her.

_"Emperor,"_ she breathed, as though that had been what she'd needed.

His heart fell further, the unpleasantly sickening knots in his stomach returning full force. "Martin," he corrected firmly.

She nodded, sitting back down on the bed. "Emperor Martin." Amelie held out her hands, looking expectantly at him. He again sat beside her, entrusting himself to her care.

"What will you do?" he asked carefully. She shook her head, still examining the numerous little wounds.

"Not a lot, these aren't as serious," she said.

"No, I mean..." He watched her carefully; her focus refused to break. "Now that Anna Marie and Jean are gone."

She put his hands together as though praying, holding them together as she cast a spell. When she released him, the wounds looked several weeks old and healing well. "Move forward," she said. "It's all I can do."

"What about—!"

She took his chin in her hand, turning his head to the side to see where the wraith had cut him. Martin recoiled slightly as she gently touched the wound, casting another spell.

"There." She sat back, looking tired. "Better?"

Martin put a hand to his face. The wound was still there, but felt as though it had been healing for some time. "Thank you."

"That one will probably scar," Amelie warned him. He shrugged.

"At this point, I am just glad to be whole."

She gathered up her bottles and set them back on the nightstand, handing him his shirt. "You come to _me_, all right?" she said sternly. "Baurus doesn't know what he's doing, you come to me next time. And you _don't_ hide it."

"I won't." Martin pulled his shirt back on. The pain from the burns was gone, but had been replaced with an aching soreness. "Thank you, Amelie."

She inclined her head to him, sliding her bad leg off the bed again. "The aching may take a few days," she said, preempting his question. "Magic cannot fix everything."

"I am _hardly_ about to complain now," Martin said seriously, watching her pop open another bottle.

"Here." She held the bottle as though to pour its contents into his hands. "Put it on your face."

"Am I—"

"Just trust me."

He let her pour it out into his palm, and rubbed it into his cheeks. It was wonderfully cooling and refreshing, banishing the unbearable heat of the Gate.

"Good for Gates," she confirmed, corking the bottle again and entrusting it to him. "We use it a lot."

"Thank you," he said, trying to make out what ingredients her label listed.

"What were you and Jean fighting about?" she asked suddenly.

Martin's head snapped up, and he turned to look at her. "What do you—"

"Jean may be a good liar, but _you_ are not," Amelie said. "But I didn't want to press the issue with tempers running so high."

"Jean does have a bit of a temper," Martin agreed.

"So do you, I sense."

He did not deny it.

"Did it have anything to do with Farwil, I wonder?" she asked apprehensively. "I know they never quite saw eye to eye."

He paused. Well, yes, but no. "I... well, I..." He took a deep breath, trying to straighten out the incidences of Jean's anger. "Jean was upset with Farwil, certainly, but with me because he thought... He thought I was trying to court you."

Amelie stared at him in disbelief. Finally, she shook her head, arms crossed.

_"Unbelievable,"_ she breathed, frowning. "Jean was always concerned about suitors for Anna Marie and myself," Amelie explained. "He felt that responsibility fell to him. Really, Jean?" she asked the empty room. "I can't believe him. I do hope he never...?" She trailed off.

"Jean never hurt me," Martin said quickly.

"Good."

"Was Jean always so concerned for you and Anna Marie?" Martin asked curiously.

"I cannot remember," she said, looking distraught. "And now I may never know who he would have chosen for me. I do know he would have _never_ permitted me to marry Hieronymus. Or anyone else, I sense."

"Has Captain Lex asked this of you?" Martin asked nervously.

"Oh, _gods_ no. There's no one," she said. "Not for me. Certainly not now, at least, can you imagine?"

"I don't think there are many weddings happening nowadays," Martin said. "Perhaps that's best, for now."

"But, if it does happen, I don't think it will be up to me," she added, looking across the room out the frozen window.

Martin frowned, following her gaze. The window had not thawed in the winter chill of the mountains. "What do you mean?"

"You cannot choose who you fall in love with. You just fall, and whoever catches you is the one," Amelie said matter-of-factly.

"That..." He hated the idea, for how true it was. "That is very insightful," Martin said.

"What do you think, Martin?" Amelie asked suddenly. "Because in the end, I think it will just be whoever asks me."

Martin paused a moment, caught off guard and carefully wording a response. "It... well I, it's..."

She nudged him gently. "You are a priest. Surely this sort of dilemma is not foreign ground for you?"

"No, but I never—!" He caught himself, swallowing the words he could have said.

"What?"

"It's not up to me, either," he said finally. "But I think you should love whoever you desire. And I do believe the choice is yours," he added. "Because no matter who you choose, he will love you, and dearly."

Silence fell as she stared out the window. It was several long minutes before Martin reached out to her, gently tapping her arm.

"Amelie."

She shook her head. "I don't know why we're discussing this," she said. "I'm sorry. We have had a long day, we should get back to bed."

Martin left her alone to return to his room, closing the door and sliding down to sit on the floor. His heart weighed heavy as his imagination ran, picturing the different ways that conversation could have gone and wondering if he had chosen the right path.


	19. Banishment

**Banishment**

"The portal will close?" Baurus asked. Martin, Jauffre, Baurus, and Farwil were gathered in the Great Hall, discussing what was to happen once Amelie set foot in Camoran's Paradise. Amelie had not come out of her room, and Martin felt that was for the best. The four of them had been brainstorming for the better part of the day, to almost no avail.

"Yes. We must be sure Amelie is completely prepared before she enters," Martin affirmed. He had checked the research more times than could ever have been necessary to make sure this was correct. There was no denying it, and this worried him. "There is no way to know what she will face in Camoran's Paradise, and that makes it harder to know what to equip her with. We must think of a way to keep her safe."

"Why not just send me with her?" Farwil asked, leaning back in his chair.

Martin bit his tongue to prevent himself from responding.

"Because we want her back _alive,"_ Baurus said, annoyed. Farwil spitefully let the front legs of his chair crash back down to the floor.

"She needs the help. I can go in with her, and then we'll have a shot at getting out alive."

"We'll have _a shot?"_ Martin snapped. "She is more than capable."

"Yeah. And her brother died getting out of that Great Gate," Farwil pointed out.

"What does that have to do with Amelie?"

"She wanders lost around this temple! You think she can navigate a place with no door leading back? Clearly, Jean died to get her out," Farwil said matter of factly. "If she needs that kind of help getting out of a little Gate, what's it going to take this time?"

Baurus looked ready to answer and Martin opened his mouth to respond as well, but Jauffre shook his head. This was Farwil, the Count's son. Aggravating, INFURIATING though he was, they had to put up with him. Martin took a deep breath, trying to cool his boiling blood.

"So I'm right, then!" Farwil said triumphantly. "Me and my Knights have closed Oblivion Gates before, we can handle whatever Camoran's got up his sleeve."

_"NO!"_ He'd had enough. Martin got to his feet, slamming the Mysterium Xarxes closed on the table. Farwil's nonsensical boasting was intolerable enough, but _this?_ "As I understand, it was _Amelie_ that got you out of that Oblivion Gate in one piece, not the other way around!"

"Is that so?" Farwil snapped scornfully, slowly getting to his feet as well, his hand on his sword. Jauffre and Baurus both got up, alarmed. "You must _understand_ something wrong!"

"You are nothing but a spoiled boy of privilege!" Martin shouted angrily. "Amelie is more capable than you and your entire _Knights of the Thorn!_ You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into, and you are treating it like a game to be won!"

"It _is_ a game!" Farwil laughed, staring Martin down with a grin on his face. "And by the way, _Emperor_," Farwil snapped mockingly, "you're the worst player I've ever seen! How in the world do you expect to continue your bloodline? You clearly wouldn't know a lady if she sat on your lap!"

Mortified, Martin felt the color rising in his cheeks. "Can you not admire a woman for more than her body? How can you think of Amelie in such a way!"

"Easy," Farwil said, his voice low, a condescending grin on his face. "Comes naturally. Can't understand why you would ever _care—"_

"You care _nothing_ for her!" Martin shouted at him. "All you have done since your arrival is pester and bother her!"

"And all you've done is send your servants out to be killed!" Farwil fired back. "At least _I_ can keep her safe!"

"Amelie Rose does not need _keeping safe!"_

"Have you ever _seen_ her?" Farwil laughed. "Are we talking about the same girl? She can barely keep her head on straight! She's practically begging for someone to take care of her! And one day," Farwil said, slamming his hands down onto the table, _"I will!"_

"How dare you say such things!" Martin hands had balled into fists, shaking at his sides with such rage they nearly exploded into flames. "If ever she needs help, she would never need it from you!"

"She might not _need_ my help, but one day I'll give it," Farwil said. "And perhaps one day, she'll love to have my _help."_

_"You do not love her!"_ Martin bellowed. He pounded his fists down on the table, dislodging books, the two Stones, and the Rose.

The room fell silent for a moment, the Rose rolling off the table and clattering to the ground. Martin glared at Farwil, watching his eyes flicker down for just a moment.

Infuriatingly, Farwil began to laugh. "Well, no," he said. "Of course not! But clearly... nor do you."

Before Martin could burn the grin off his face, Baurus grabbed the back of Farwil's doublet and dragged him backwards towards the doors.

"You know what, Farwil?" Baurus said. "We're done. Get out."

Baurus kicked open the doors leading outside, and dragged a madly protesting Farwil outside, presumably to lock him on the wrong side of the heavy doors.

Jauffre cast a concerned glance at Martin, who was still furiously fuming. "Sire...?"

Martin sat back down, flipping to a random page of the Mysterium Xarxes and trying to calm himself.

"Martin, are you all right?" Jauffre asked worriedly.

"Fine. I'm fine."

"Are you—"

_"Fine,"_ Martin insisted.

"What's going on?"

Jauffre and Martin both looked around. Amelie was standing in the hallway, looking tired and concerned. Martin breathed deeply, desperately trying to calm himself.

"Amelie."

"I heard shouting," she said, slowly entering the room. "Is everything all right?"

Baurus reentered the Great Hall, only to be intercepted by Jauffre. They exchanged a few hasty, muffled words, and then went outside. Martin closed the Mysterium Xarxes again.

"Everything's fine."

"What happened?" Amelie asked again, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. "I have _never_ seen you lose your temper so, I'm glad it was at Farwil and not me."

Embarrassed, Martin explained. "Farwil seems to believe that your success with the Oblivion gates is largely due to luck. I'm sorry we woke you."

Amelie shook her head. "Luck...?" She frowned. "I can hardly deny that we've all had some luck along the way, but I would remiss not to give credit where it is well merited."

Martin nodded absently. "To Jean and Anna Marie?"

"And to the Mages Guild," Amelie added. "To the Blades. And to you."

"To... to me?" Martin was floored. "What have _I_ done to deserve any credit for your exploits? All I do is, is sit here with books and tell you where to go."

"And you trust me to act on your word," Amelie said. "You have given me and my family tasks of utmost importance, all the while surrounded by dedicated, more than competent Blades. You... _do_ trust me?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"Of course I do," Martin reassured her. She smiled.

"Good. Your trust means the world to me, Martin."

Martin returned her smile with a sheepish one of his own.

"Whatever that shouting match was about," Amelie decided finally, "I am certainly glad to be rid of Farwil."

They laughed. "I agree," Martin said. "He was... trying."

"Oh, he got under all of our skins, gods be _damned_ if he does not know it now," Amelie said wryly, eliciting another laugh from Martin.

"Hopefully the lesson will stick with him."

"Any... anything new?" she asked uncertainly, nodding to the Mysterium Xarxes.

"We have everything we need for the ritual to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise," Martin told her. "But we do not know what to expect."

Amelie bit her lip. "What _do_ you know of the Paradise?" she asked.

"Very little. I can say for certain that the portal between our world and Paradise will close behind you," he said.

What little color was left in her face vanished. "Then how...?"

"There must be another way out," Martin reasoned. "I believe that Camoran himself is the anchor to Paradise. Similar to the way a Sigil Stone anchors an Oblivion Gate. If... If you can kill Camoran, you should be able to return to us here."

Amelie sat back in her chair, worry written all over her face. "I am not fond of all this killing... But I get the impression that when I face him, he would be nothing short of ecstatic to take my head," she mused. "Do not worry. Regardless of what may happen, I will do whatever it takes to recover the Amulet of Kings for you."

"Thank you, my dear," Martin said. "I know I can count on you."

His heart weighed heavy anyway. It felt too much like sending her to die, too much like abandoning her to a fate meant for him.

* * *

He lay awake again, studying the ceiling and wondering. What if the Amulet was just lost? What if Amelie could not bring it back? What if he was sending her to her death, as he had done with Anna Marie, as he had done with Jean? What if she met her end in Paradise? How would they know? What would they do?

Or what if all went as planned? What if he, as the sole heir, became the Emperor? What if he was expected to rule and govern and be a leader? He had grown up on a farm! Gone and done terrible things, wasted years and the lives of others on a whim! His life should have been spent in a chapel, paying for his mistakes, not being elevated to such a position of power and authority!

What would he _do_ with power again? The possibilities loomed over him, seeming insurmountable but also, as it once had been, appealing. What if no one could refuse him anything? What if his word became law not because it was good, but because it was his? What if he instead spent his life in a palace, being protected and answered to?

But then... what would happen if it did _not_ go as planned, and it was all for nothing?

What if he was _not_ the heir?

Martin constantly battled with the idea, even more so as the reality of the Amulet's recovery grew closer. If he _wasn't_ the heir, then who was? What if there was no one? What would happen when the Amulet slid from his grasp and refused to be worn by an impostor, what would become of him? He supposed they would abandon him. Kindly, to their credit, but all the same. Why would they waste their time with him? Why would she stay if there was someone elsewhere who was far better?

Martin shook his head in the darkness, turning over to stare at the wall. These possibilities were all equally ridiculous, and all a waste of time while the Amulet was missing. And yet, for every thought he shoved away from his mind, three more invaded the peace of night, leaving him to stare uneasily at the walls, sickeningly unsure of himself and whatever could possibly come next.


	20. Oblivion

**Oblivion**

Martin felt little else but apprehension for the coming days. Having Farwil out of his life was certainly easier on his nerves and his patience, but the lack of certainty surrounding Paradise wore heavily on him.

Amelie herself spent the entire following day with her alchemy setup at her table in the Great Hall, mixing up potions and paring down the amount of things she intended to bring with her.

"If you think you'll need it, you'd better bring it," Baurus advised her. "With no way back, better safe than sorry."

"I agree," Amelie said. "Although it is difficult to decide. With no knowledge of what Paradise is like, it is all too likely that I will bring the wrong outfit of items. If Paradise is as wonderful as the Mythic Dawn claims, I may end up needing nothing at all."

"I would not take such chances, Amelie Rose," Jauffre said. "Better to bring too much than not enough."

"That's easy for a knight to say," Amelie mused, looking over different groupings of potions and poisons. "I am a mage. I cannot carry half as much as Jean or Anna Marie could, I cannot even wear a set of armor without encumbering myself too much for travel."

Faced with this, Baurus and Jauffre both looked over her assortments of potions as well, musing about the pros and cons of taking this over that, or the other.

Martin did not chime in, burying himself behind a wall of books as he rehearsed the ritual in his mind. The last thing he wanted on his conscience was the possibility of giving her bad advice and equipping her poorly for whatever awaited her.

The day slipped away behind his books as he went over what he had. The blood of a god, the heart of an Oblivion gate, the Welkynd Stone from Miscarcand, and the Sanguine Rose. Half these adventures had ended in death and yet, they were still technically victories.

Even if she did succeed in finding and returning the Amulet to them, would they have another body to bury when she did? How could he face being Emperor with that hanging over him? He rarely thought, truly and honestly thought, about what the world might look like when faced alone. With no one to stand beside him and go with him, no one to take on the trials and challenges of leading a nation, no one to share stories with, no one...

Martin stared up into the darkness of his room, listening to silence settle around Cloud Ruler Temple. The heaviness of his thoughts weighed down his breath and seized him, leaving him to pray for... something. The sunrise. A miracle. Another way.

There wasn't one, of course, but damned if he didn't search.

"Keep her safe," he breathed into the night, praying to whatever power might listen. "Bring her back. Do not let me begin where she ends."

A weight sunk into his stomach, and he wondered if he hoped for too much. He swallowed hard.

They could not give up, but moving forward had already cost them so dearly. What world awaited them, after so much sacrifice?

* * *

The following morning, after an uneasy night's sleep, Amelie announced to the group that she was ready to go.

"Are you quite sure you are ready, Amelie?" Martin asked, anxiously fingering the pages of the Mysterium Xarxes.

She nodded, solemn. She had decided to wear her now customary Oblivion Gate getup, carrying Archmage Traven's staff of lightning and a bag full to bursting with potions across her shoulder.

"I know nothing of what lies beyond the portal to Paradise," Amelie said. "But that doesn't matter. My only goal is to recover the Amulet of Kings."

"You are very brave, Amelie Rose," Jauffre said, a hint of pride in his voice as he and Baurus both gave her a hug goodbye. "Keep your heart true, and your eyes open."

"Stay safe, prisoner," Baurus added, giving her a final squeeze around the shoulders. "Hit first. Don't miss."

"I will do my best."

She turned to Martin, and his heart froze as she spoke. "I get the impression it will be some time before I see you again."

"Do not say such things, my dear," Martin said. "You must return safely."

She reached out to take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "We have taken on worse than this," she said, shaky confidence in her voice. Martin pulled her to him and embraced her tightly, reminding himself that he did need to allow her to go when the time came.

"I _will_ come back with the Amulet of Kings, Martin," Amelie assured him softly. "I can promise nothing more."

She pulled away from him, taking a deep breath. Faced with this, Martin prepared himself to open the portal.

An unspeakable evil pulsated through the book as Martin cast the spells. The blood, the Stones, and the Rose evaporated as the portal borrowed from their power. After all was said and done, he remembered very little of what had actually happened after he and the book were bound together. The feeling of falling through a foreign substance, a liquid air or a solid fire, and the appearance of everything being far, far away...

Somewhere beyond his field of vision, the portal roared into existence in the middle of the Great Hall, before the fireplace. Rocky thorns framed the intense heat of the portal itself, the foreboding orange eye of the storm that was the war.

Without further word, Amelie dashed into it, disappearing. No sooner was she out of sight than the portal collapsed in on itself, causing things to come crashing down off the walls of the Great Hall. The rocky thorns remained, a grim reminder of the stakes.

No one spoke. Martin sank into his chair, looking down at all the books and notes. Was it enough?

"We must not dwell on what we cannot change now," Jauffre said, breaking the silence. "Martin... do you have a plan?"

Martin turned to look at them, physically drained from the ritual for the portal. "I... am not sure," he said.

"Get some rest," Baurus advised. "We can talk later."

"There may not be _later,"_ Martin said, mustering all the strength and confidence he could. If he was to be Emperor, he needed to act like it. "We must prepare for when Amelie returns. Not if."

Spurred on, Jauffre and Baurus busied themselves with Martin's orders. Jauffre sent for a courier, whom Martin promptly sent back to the Imperial City, informing Chancellor Ocato of his intent to present a formal claim to the throne. Meanwhile, Baurus personally carried down a message to the troops in Bruma, dismissing them back to their hometowns.

Martin watched the troops disperse from the ramparts of the Temple before returning to the Great Hall alone. The Hall was empty, the thorns of Paradise sticking out from the wood and stone of the floor. He stared into the space where the portal had been, willing it to come back.

If it did, would he follow her into the unknown?

* * *

The following days brought no news. Baurus and Jauffre were taking turns keeping watch for any sign of Amelie in the Great Hall, but nothing changed throughout the following two days.

Martin, already uneasy, grew more and more distressed at the lack of change. He spent the days running through his research over and over, exhausting every possibility and hoping with all his heart that he had not misinterpreted anything. He walked around the Hall, pacing around the thorns and wood, tracing the scorch marks on Amelie's table and wishing he was not alone. He went outside to see the Gates pop open near Bruma, just to close again as the guards sprinted in and out.

Below in the snow, the two graves stood against the wind and snow. He went to visit them, sitting by them for a while. The last thing he wanted was to add to Cloud Ruler Temple's little graveyard. Martin sat down in the sunlit snow, a chill breeze blowing through the mountains.

The graves did not bring him comfort. They sat cold and sad, the sword and shield alongside the helmet and bow. Martin stared down at them, lost for words as he often was.

There were rare flashes of time when he felt maybe, _maybe_ he was ready to take up the mantle of Emperor. They were always followed by cold waves of uncertainty and self-doubt. If he were _meant_ to be Emperor, he would be a better leader. If he were _meant_ for power, he would understand it.

He did not.

His evenings were spent in the dark, staring into the dead of night and hoping, wishing, praying, whatever he could do. On the rare occasion he slept, he heard voices calling out to him. The voices of the apprentices, of Kvatch, and now, the three siblings. The faces of those he had lost drifted in and out of sight, engulfed by the flames of the Gates, overtaken by waves of daedra, or simply vanishing into nothingness.

Most often he dreamt of nothing, and this scared him most.

* * *

"Baurus?"

It was late at night. Baurus was keeping watch in the Great Hall.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, stretching. Martin looked exhausted.

"I will keep watch for Amelie," Martin said. "Sleep for a while."

"That's all right," Baurus said. "I've got this. You could use the rest more than any of us, I think."

"I feel fine," Martin insisted. "I would like to keep watch."

"Are you sure?" Baurus stood up, looking concerned. "Is everything ok, sire?"

Martin nodded, a lump in his throat. "I'm fine."

"All right, then."

Baurus left him alone with his thoughts and the scorch mark on the floor.

Martin stared into it, feeling no better now than he had on the opposite side of the doors to the Great Hall. He let his head fall into his hands, trying to steady his nerves and his heart.

How long should they wait? At what point was it hopeless? When would they be forced to give up on her?

Or... what would happen when she returned? Would she be alive when she did?

He sat down by the thorns, feeling as though he had to say something but empty for words.

"Amelie." Martin stared into the burned wood, lost. "Please, just... come back."

He looked over his shoulder, finding the Hall truly empty.

"I care for none of it," he confessed. "I don't care about the Amulet, or for becoming Emperor, or for..." He hit the ground with a half-hearted fist. "I want none of it, I can't. How could I?"

The thorns stayed silent.

"I don't care for any of it!" Martin said. "But I would follow you there, I would walk the country to find another way, I would work the rest of my life to bring you home. Please, come back," he pleaded.

The Hall made no response, and nothing changed.

"My dear, I..."

He bit back more words and swallowed hard, fighting with himself. What could he say? And what did it matter?

* * *

The night brought no change. Baurus was the first person in.

"Nothing," Martin confirmed, standing up from the floor. He had barely moved, let alone taken any time to sleep.

"Hey, Jauffre wants you. He's waiting in your room," Baurus told him.

Martin took his leave of the Great Hall, doubtful that anything Jauffre had to say would make him feel better.

As it turned out, Jauffre was waiting with a set of the finest robes Martin had ever seen. He had never seen them, but knew them immediately as the robes of an emperor.

"If you are to present a claim to the throne," Jauffre said, "you may as well look the part. Consider it a present, for the new year."

"New year?" It dawned on Martin that they had been in Cloud Ruler Temple for nearly four months. Today was indeed the new year, the first day of Morning Star.

It was a surreal experience, turning to the mirror and seeing himself in the garb of a ruler. Martin had half-expected to feel empowered by the robes, but he actually felt more dwarfed than ever, as though the power expected of him exceeded his capabilities. Would he ever rise to the occasion?

Jauffre smiled brightly. "You look just like your father," he told Martin proudly. "All you need is the Amulet of Kings."

The mere thought that the end of the war could be near was daunting. They had come so far... there was no turning back now.

No matter what happened.

Cautious as always, Martin concealed a dagger in the sleeve of the robes, in case of emergency or daedra. Could never be too careful, in times like this.

"I suppose nothing has changed in the Great Hall?" Jauffre asked carefully.

Martin shook his head. "Nothing yet."

Jauffre frowned. "I know you are worried, sire," he said. Martin stared at the ground, refusing to respond.

Suddenly, the ground shook. There was a great rumbling sound from the Great Hall.

"JAUFFRE!" Baurus's voice shouted. "MARTIN! I think—I think she's back!"

They ran towards the Great Hall. As soon as they burst through the doors, flames erupted in the center of the room. Just as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished, Amelie lying in a heap where the flames once stood. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she gasped for air.

"AMELIE!"

Her eyes immediately opened as they ran to her. She looked around the room and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, visibly relaxing as she saw them. She was a mess: the sleeves of the beige blouse she had worn were burned off, frayed and blackened, blood staining her shoulders and down her back. There would be no salvaging it this time.

"Amelie, are you all right?" Martin asked, kneeling down beside her and praying she had not come all this way just to die now.

"Y-Yes," she said, brushing herself off. She was bloody and streaked with soot, but did appear to be more or less in one piece. "I'm fine."

"Thank the Nine," he breathed, helping her to her feet. She wavered a little, but stood on her own.

"Mankar Camoran was not so strong," she announced matter-of-factly.

Martin answered her with a smile, overjoyed. "No one can match you, my dear."

"But more importantly..." She reached into her now completely empty shoulder bag. "This... This is yours."

She held out her hand, holding the Amulet of Kings. Jauffre's grin could have split his face in two.

"Alert the rest," Jauffre instructed Baurus. "We must move quickly, the Amulet of Kings is still very much a target." He and Baurus ran from the room to rouse and prepare the rest of the Temple as Martin took the Amulet.

It seemed so long ago that Anna Marie had brought it up, calling it the definitive proof that he was who they said, the ultimate test and moment of truth. He fastened it around his neck.

To his joy and his horror, it stayed in place, pleasingly weighty against his chest.

"You see?" Amelie said, beaming. "You truly are of Septim blood."

"I knew it to be true the moment you first told me in Kvatch," Martin lied. "Thank you."

She smiled, looking him up and down as she cast her healing spells. "The robes suit you well," she said, peeling pieces of burnt cloth off her skin. "You truly look the part."

Martin shook his head. "They are just for show. I hope."

"Well then, I hope so too," she said brightly. "Have you come up with a plan? To light the Dragonfires?"

"First, we must ensure that I will not be rejected as Emperor," Martin said. Amelie's expression darkened.

"Who in their right mind would reject you? The Amulet of Kings is proof enough."

"I know. But I wish to defer to the authority of the Elder Council and Chancellor Ocato," Martin explained. "We've sent out a messenger, informing him of our arrival and my intent to formally present my claim to the throne."

Amelie pulled a face. "Why in the world would you want to talk to _Ocato?"_ she asked bitterly. "He refused to send us troops in our hour of need."

"I understand, but you must remember," Martin said. "I am not a legitimate heir."

Amelie scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You wear the Emperor's robes and the Amulet of Kings. Anyone who looks at you can see your father. You have led the soldiers of Cyrodiil in the defense of Bruma, you have opened the door to Paradise at great risk... gods' sakes, your face is already on the coins."

The absurd truth of this made him laugh. "I recall."

"Frankly, legitimate or otherwise, you are the most Emperor-worthy man in Tamriel."

"Then you understand why I'm not worried about meeting with the Elder Council," Martin said, honored all the same to hear the words come from her.

She beamed at him, the purest expression of joy he had ever seen on her face.

"Amelie... you are not a member of Elder Council by your appointment to Archmage, are you?" he asked.

"No! _No_, nono. No," Amelie said at once, shaking her head. "Ocato is a member of the Council of Mages because of his guild rank of Master-Wizard. But I am in _no way_ involved in the dealings of the Elder Council."

"We shall have to change that. If you will agree, that is," Martin added hopefully. Amelie laughed.

"I cannot imagine why you would want me appointed to Elder Council," Amelie said modestly. "But it will be your decision. When shall we leave for the Imperial City?"

"As soon as you like," Martin said. "I will not leave without you."

Amelie smiled. "Allow me to..." She looked down at her shoulders. "...handle _this_, and put something more presentable, and then we may go." She left the Great Hall.

Martin got up to meet the gathered troops, again assembled outside the Temple proper and lining the pathway with silvery armor. They looked to him, heartened and dedicated as he spoke.

"Amelie Rose has recovered the Amulet of Kings," he told them, unsure of what else to say. "We will be leaving for the Imperial City shortly to present a claim to the throne, be sure everyone is ready to leave."

Martin had the forethought to pack a small bag for himself as well. As ceremonial as all this seemed, he had no desire to wear the Emperor's robes for longer than he had to. With a bag of extra clothes and a dagger at his side, he waited in the Great Hall for Amelie.

A few minutes later, she reappeared in the Great Hall, dressed in a deep purple gown trimmed with gold and green. Her staff hung at her back, always at the ready, her bag of potions resting at her hip. She had redone her braid and woven in a gold ribbon, and was busy twisting it into a bun when she reentered the hall.

Martin stared at her, stunned. "Amelie... you..."

"As you said, m'lord," Amelie said, tying off her bun with a flourish. "Just for show."

"You are beautiful," he told her.

Slightly pink, she curtsied deeply to him, and followed him to the door.


	21. Hold

**Hold**

The group reached the Imperial City without trouble, arriving just before noon the next day. The citizens all watched them proceed past, whispering excitedly. Never had Martin felt so out of place, and so needed.

Amelie walked close behind him, brow furrowed. She kept a watchful eye, even inside the gates of the city.

"Is something wrong, Amelie?" he asked as they made their way to the Elder Council chambers. She bit her lip, looking worried.

"I feel that this was too easy," she said honestly, keeping her voice quiet. "I wish not to alarm you, but I feel as though we're not through this yet."

"Mehrunes Dagon is still a threat as long as the Dragonfires remain unlit," Martin said. "You are right, we're not at the end of this path yet. But the end is in sight."

She nodded, silent once more.

He turned to her before opening the door to the council room. "Amelie, I hate to see you worried."

Amelie sighed, frowning worriedly. "I worry for you, Martin. The sooner this is through, the better I shall feel."

"Me, too. We are almost at the end," Martin assured her. "Please, my dear, smile. Happier times are on the horizon."

Amelie obliged him, beaming. "I cannot pretend I am unhappy to see you in your rightful place as Emperor, Martin."

The knots in his stomach returned, tightening again as he opened the door.

"We will wait here, Martin, Amelie," Jauffre said.

Martin pushed open the door to the council chamber.

"Ah! Archmage Azarath! Martin Septim!" Ocato greeted them excitedly.

"Chancellor," Amelie said, inclining her head to him.

"You cannot imagine my happiness when I learned there was still a claimant to the throne!" Ocato said, barely able to contain himself.

Amelie moved from behind him to stand by Ocato, facing Martin. "The Dragonborn himself."

"Yes, yes! I see! The robes of the Emperor! The Amulet of Kings, no less!" Ocato gushed. Amelie quietly snapped her fingers in Ocato's direction, a faint, pale blue light settled around Ocato, calming him down. Martin subtly shook his head at her, smiling all the same as she gave a little shrug, smiling guiltily.

"Right, then, Chancellor?" Amelie asked.

"Yes, of course." Ocato knelt before him, clearing his throat. Amelie also knelt in reverence, a gesture he much detested. "I hereby recognize you, Martin Septim, as Emperor of Cyrodiil—"

"Chancellor Ocato!"

Amelie's head whipped around, the worried look returning to her face in an instant.

"What is it?" Martin asked. A messenger ran in, accompanied by Jauffre, Baurus, and Captain Steffan.

"Chancellor Ocato! We have a problem!"

"Oh, no," Amelie breathed, Ocato getting to his feet.

"There are daedra in the city!" the messenger said, panicking.

"Well, take care of them," Ocato said dismissively, "we are attempting to close Oblivion Gates for good, can you not handle a few daedra on your own?"

"Sir, they're coming _from_ Oblivion Gates," the messenger said hurriedly. "The Gates have opened up inside the walls of the city!"

Martin felt the blood drain from his face. He stole a glance at Amelie, who had also gone white. She met his eyes for a horrified split-second, then sprang up and dashed out of the room.

"Amelie!"

"Emperor Martin, what can we do now?" Ocato asked, now also panicking.

"Hope is not lost yet," he explained quickly. "We must light the Dragonfires, and we must do it before Mehrunes Dagon arrives. We cannot waste time!"

He led the way out of the room, following the path Amelie had blazed out of the room.

The city was in chaos. Fire flooded the streets as daedra came pouring out of the gates. Soldiers variously herded civilians into buildings or out of the district, fending off flames and daedra alike.

Jauffre was shouting, already directing troops. Baurus and the captain of the Legion sprinted into action, armed men and women following them with weapons at the ready. "Come, now! We must act!"

Baurus and Jauffre ran off to meet the daedra as they came, leaving Ocato, Amelie, and Martin. Ocato quickly busied himself with the disposal of a few oncoming daedra. Amelie herself was speaking with a stranger who had presumably come from nowhere, an old Breton man in unfamiliar red and black robes who stood in a pool of purple shadow.

"You have done this before," he said lazily. "Or at least, something of the sort."

"Not like this! This is different," she insisted. "There, there are _people_ here!"

"Rude," said the stranger, crossing his arms. "Do I count for nothing?"

"REAL people!"

_"Rude."_

Amelie sputtered frustratedly, looking as though she might throttle him. "This is not my fight!" she said harshly.

"_Make it_ your fight."

"He _would_ want that, wouldn't he!"

"Then make it _his _fight."

Amelie glared at him. "If I were any less fond of you—"

"Shall I stay with you, my lady?" asked the stranger. "Since it has been _ever_ so long since our last time of war."

"Do as you will, Haskill," Amelie said, waving him off. "I'll meet with you when this is..." She trailed off as Martin approached her, confused.

"I live to serve." Haskill disappeared, leaving an utterly perplexed Martin by Amelie's side.

"What... who in the world...?" Martin asked, nonplussed.

"There is no time for that," Amelie said, shooting off a lightning spell against oncoming daedra. "We have to move!"

They fought their way through wave after wave of daedra. Dremora, daedroth, xivilai, all crowded the streets, overtaking soldiers and civilians alike. Martin blindly followed Amelie through the sea of evil, casting spells at random as they went.

More flames greeted them as they entered. Amelie turned and fired lightning at random against the opposition, Martin retaliating against the forces of Oblivion as best he could. They carved a path through the district, a desperate last attempt to reach their goal.

The Daedric claymores and maces left their mark on her as she did them; by the time they were halfway through the district, her dress was torn and bloody at the bodice and both arms. Amelie was very quickly becoming exhausted, while the daedra were not. Martin looked up, and cast aside his dagger; it would do him no good now.

How they had not seen him before, Martin never knew. He towered over them. Mehrunes Dagon was tearing through the ranks of the Blades and Imperial Watch alike. The group of brave soldiers attacking him head-on did nothing to subdue him.

Martin froze, trying to think fast and coming up empty. Mehrunes Dagon had already come... what hope was left?

"Martin..." Amelie turned to him, her face whiter than ever and streaked with blood and soot as the city around them burned. "What can we do now? The Dragonfires—"

"Lighting the Dragonfires will do nothing now," Martin said quickly. "Mehrunes Dagon is already here, the Dragonfires are useless."

"But we... everything... the Amulet..." She looked to him, broken. "What should—!"

Suddenly, she shoved Martin behind her with her staff, lashing out at an approaching daedroth. _"Back to Oblivion with ye!" _she yelled harshly, hurling lightning and fire at it.

Martin cast a line of flames down the path, hoping it would at least stall the daedra coming for his head.

"We can't have done all this for nothing!" Amelie cried, again looking to him. "Surely we did not come all this way for the Amulet to be useless!"

"The... the Amulet. Yes! The Amulet of Kings!" Martin thought swiftly, hoping against hope. If this plan worked, they would be saved, but... What if it didn't? What if it _did?_

Was it worth it?

Amelie shot off more lightning. "Do you have a plan, Martin?" she asked, seizing her staff.

"I do," Martin said, steeling himself. It didn't matter whether or not it was worth it to him. It meant an end to the war, and that was worth more than all the words he could never say. "I need to get to the Temple of the One. Can you get me there?"

"What are you planning?" Amelie asked.

"Do you trust me?" Martin asked, catching her eye. "Amelie?"

"Of course I do," Amelie said.

"Then get me to the Temple of the One, and I will take care of the rest."

Amelie nodded, a swarm of daedra coming right at them. Rather than turn to fight them, she grabbed his hand, her staff in the other.

_**"HOLD!"**_ she shouted into the glowing bulb of her staff. Her voice, magically amplified in an authoritative Daedric voice Martin did not recognize, reached every corner of the district. The world around them ceased to move, daedra caught between attacks, arrows and swords paused in mid-attack. Even Dagon himself had frozen in his destruction to heed her.

"Amelie... how...?"

"Come, we have no time to waste!" Amelie said, releasing his hand, and leading him towards the temple at a full sprint. "The enchantment will not last forever!"

If only it could.

Martin followed her, sprinting through the stilled district until they reached the temple. Amelie rushed inside, trying to calm herself.

The toll of the battle weighed heavily on her, she would not escape the district unscathed. The wounds on her shoulders from her battle with Camoran had reopened, staining the purple of her gown an even deeper color against the ash of the burning city.

"Martin, I trust you, believe me I do," she said, pacing wildly around the temple, "but Mother Mara, I hope you know what to do."

"I know now what I was born to do," Martin said, approaching her as composedly as he could. "Amelie, wait—"

"Martin, we have no time to wait!" Amelie said, flustered. "The enchantment will break any moment, and—"

"Amelie, please! Make just a moment for me!" he implored. This... his last chance. Truly and unequivocally, his last, and still he had no words.

"Martin—"

Martin grabbed her shoulders, pulling her towards him. The world was quiet and still as he kissed her, holding her close. He felt her arms fold tightly around him, and wished never to let her go.

For a fleeting moment, all was right with the world.

Just as suddenly, the authoritative Daedric voice echoed around the district.

_**"RELEASE!"**_

The world sprang back to life. The sounds of battle began once again, the temple shaking as Mehrunes Dagon stomped his way through the forces. Martin broke away from Amelie, gently touching his forehead to hers.

"Martin..."

"Farewell, my love." He tore himself away as the temple collapsed around them, holding the Amulet of Kings tightly in his hand, covered in blood that was not his own.

As he reached the center of the temple, Mehrunes Dagon turned menacingly to face him. Resolute despite his heavy heart, Martin destroyed the Amulet, the blood of the Dragonborn marrying with the blood of the mad Archmage. The Amulet let forth a wave of power as Akatosh answered the call.

* * *

The Amulet shattered, blinding light bursting from Martin's body. As Amelie watched, he became the Avatar of Akatosh, a fiery dragon of immense power, the dragon god himself. Of course... Mehrunes Dagon can only be defeated by another immortal.

"MARTIN!"

Amelie tried to run towards them, but was repelled by a gentle sweep of Akatosh's tail. She could barely take in what was going on before her, watching Akatosh rear back to breathe a holy fire. The end of the battle arrived as quickly as it had begun.

Martin, borrowing the power of Akatosh, had defeated Mehrunes Dagon.

The daedra were banished. Mehrunes Dagon disappeared. With the end of the battle came the end of the war: daedra would not be seen in Cyrodiil for many long years to come. They had succeeded.

But, as the battle came to a close, Akatosh let out a cry. Of triumph, of happiness, of pain or of anguish, it did not matter. The great dragon turned to stone in the middle of the temple.

Amelie fell to her knees, lost. He was gone.

...Who was he?

_NO! _She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back against the roots and flowers that clouded her mind, grappling against them and struggling to hold on to memories that swam in and out of reach.

"Martin?" she said shakily, shoving herself to her feet. "Martin!"

Silence.

"SAY SOMETHING!" she shouted up at the statue, tears clouding her vision. "MARTIN! ANSWER ME!"

"Amelie! Amelie, are you all right?" Jauffre and Baurus ran in. They both sported various injuries, and Jauffre in particular needed immediate care, but was somehow still standing. "Amelie Rose," Jauffre said. "Where is...?"

She nodded mutely, her entire body shaking as she got to her feet.

"That... that Dragon of Akatosh... that was Martin, wasn't it?" Baurus asked. Amelie nodded, gazing up at the stone dragon. Baurus and Jauffre also looked up at the dragon, silent.

"What happened? Where's Martin?" Chancellor Ocato sprinted in, also bearing the scars of battle. "We... Akatosh..."

More silence.

"...that was Martin?" Ocato guessed.

Amelie nodded. The silence of the district gave way to cheering, the survivors rejoicing in the streets.

"He was truly the Dragonborn... the last, and perhaps greatest of all the Septims," Jauffre said. Chancellor Ocato nodded, understanding.

"I... agree." He turned to Amelie. "Archmage Azarath. You have truly proven yourself worthy of the title of Archmage."

"Thank you, Master-Wizard," Amelie said flatly.

"I am honored to serve with you on the Council of Mages, but it is my belief that you deserve more. I would like to hereby induct you into the highest rank the Order of the Dragon has to offer: the Champion of Cyrodiil."

Amelie's expression remained unchanged.

"You do deserve it, Amelie," Baurus supplied kindly. "You've proven yourself a heroine time and again."

Amelie nodded, still deadpan as Ocato left. "Thank you. If you'll excuse me..."

She began to follow Ocato out of the temple.

"Amelie... where will you go?" Baurus asked. She stopped, but did not turn around.

"I don't know," she said. "Truly, I did not think about where I would go after the Oblivion Gates were closed. I suppose that now is as good a time as any to find a new home."

"You're always welcome at Cloud Ruler Temple, Sister," Baurus reminded her.

She wavered on the spot, looking lost.

"Amelie?"

She left without further word.

The third era had ended, the Septim bloodline extinguished. The last of the Dragonborn had perished in the line of duty, leaving Cyrodiil safe for time being.

In the meantime, there was nothing to be done but live as normal a life as she could. The world had vanished from beneath her feet, replaced by flowers and roots and emptiness.


	22. Between

**Between**

All was quiet. He felt grass beneath his feet, and saw a mountain in the distance. The world felt peaceful and pleasant. Had he died? The last thing he remembered was summoning Akatosh and casting out Mehrunes Dagon. What had happened since then? How long had it been? Days, months? Years, even?

A light, somehow familiar, was just barely visible as it came out of the mist before Martin.

"Martin Septim."

He froze.

"Walk with me, Martin."

Martin obliged, catching up to walk beside the light.

"Am I...?"

"Yes," answered the dragon god.

Martin fell silent, unsure of how to proceed. In spite of walking with his god, he felt an overwhelming need to be alone.

"Something troubles you still," Akatosh said, his voice gentle and comforting. "When you summoned me to fight Mehrunes Dagon, you were troubled, but committed."

"I had to be," Martin said.

"You were ready to die, and yet afraid to," Akatosh noted.

Martin remained silent.

"I felt it," Akatosh said. "When you borrowed my spirit, but yours was not the only blood we felt."

"I... what?" His eyes began to adjust to the dragon god's light, the tips of his spines just barely visible.

"I have heard much of her."

"I fear what would become of Cyrodiil without her," Martin said truthfully. "She... she survived?"

"She yet lives."

A wave of relief washed over him. So she was safe. "Thank you."

They kept walking, no apparent destination in mind. There was no sun or moon to gauge the time of day, though Martin supposed it did not matter anymore.

"You are troubled, Martin." Akatosh turned to look at him. "Why?"

"Because I..."

How could he admit something before his god that he had never been able to admit to himself?

"And troubled, still." Akatosh looked Martin over, his eyes unwavering. "Tell me. What troubles you now? The daedra will not be seen in Tamriel for many long years."

"It is Amelie," Martin said. "She is... her mind..."

He shook his head, unsure how best to phrase it. Amnesia only seemed to be a small part of whatever took hold of her mind and caused her to lose herself every so often.

"Her family has preceded my death," he said finally. "The memories we all shared together may be all she has." Martin lowered his gaze and crossed his arms, fighting back tears. What if she forgot them entirely? "I... can only hope that she understands why. Why I... we..."

"Do not despair, Martin," Akatosh said, disappearing into the haze.

Martin was alone.

Silence fell again. Martin hung his head, thoughts racing. So much had happened, so much he had felt, and not all of it was making sense. He got the feeling that not all of it had sunk in yet, either.

There was a door. He opened it.

"MARTIN SEPTIM!"

Martin heard the sound of someone sprinting towards him as soon as he entered. Anna Marie, armor and all, barreled towards him across a plain of bright yellow flowers.

"Anna—"

Anna Marie tackled him to whatever could be considered the ground, landing a heavy blow on his shoulder.

"AH—! Anna—"

"What in the name of all things are you doing here?" Anna Marie demanded, punching him again. "Tamriel needs a ruler! You cannot just, just DIE on them now! We did not work so hard only to fail!"

"Anna Marie, please—"

"No, you listen to me!" Anna Marie snapped at him, pinning him down. "You had better get back down there right this instant and be the Emperor!"

"Anna Marie," Martin coughed, trying to push her off of him. "It doesn't work that way—"

"Then MAKE it!" Anna Marie demanded huffily, arms crossed.

Martin pushed her off of him. "Anna Marie, I am dead, there is no changing that."

Anna Marie sat cross-legged beside him, looking expectantly at him. She was upset and sad, not at all what he expected of a soul ascended to the life that lay after death.

"I'm sorry. For, for everything," Martin said. "You died for me. Both of you," Martin said, wondering in the back of his mind where Jean might be.

"Both of us?" Anna Marie asked, confused.

"You and Jean. I cannot begin to imagine the lives you could have led were it not for me."

"Oh, I'll have none of that," Anna Marie said, still looking a little perplexed. "We would have had no lives without you, Martin. Although..."

She looked around, Martin following suit.

"I can't say I like it here," Anna Marie confessed. "It's empty."

"If I may ask?" Martin said, looking to her again.

"Sure."

"Where is Jean?"

She frowned, looking over her shoulder. Another door in the mist. "Go on," she said. "I can't leave. I have to keep waiting."

"Why?"

She shrugged, ushering him on. He obliged, finding himself in a cold, dark place as Anna Marie's vibrant world vanished behind him.

"Didn't expect to see you again so soon." He was sitting on a rock, looking bored with his bow still at his back. "Sounds like you gave 'em a good fight, though."

Martin nodded mutely.

"Come on." Jean waved him closer. "Don't be shy. It's not like we're going anywhere anytime soon." Even in death, ever the pessimist.

Martin sat with him, feeling a cold chill. "Why are you and Anna Marie...?"

"Dead?" Jean shrugged. "You tell me."

"She does not seem aware that you died," Martin said.

Jean shrugged again. "Damned if I know, then. Probably because I have Sithis and Nocturnal vying for me," he said.

Martin glowered at him. "So that _was_ the wrath of Sithis."

"Sorry." Jean shifted on his rock, seemingly impatient. "Tried to quit, but y'know. You don't quit Daedric service, that follows you everywhere."

Martin had not considered this. What penance would he pay, for his service to Sanguine so long ago?

"What now?" Martin asked.

Jean shrugged. They fell silent. Jean looked over his shoulder every so often. He was waiting for _something_, but what?

"Are you upset with me?" Martin asked suddenly. Jean turned to look at him.

"I'll always be upset with you," Jean said. "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate what you did."

"What _I_ did?"

"For being your guards, none of us really did much of anything," Jean sighed. "Ran around and got you stuff, that's not impressive. Not in comparison to _that_ display, at least."

Martin's face fell. "I hardly intended to make such a spectacle of it."

"History's gonna remember that one. Already got the statue for it."

"I wish they didn't," said Martin bitterly.

"The beauty of it is, you can't change it now. Hate it all you like, it's done. We're through."

Yet another door had appeared from the mist behind Jean. Jean looked around, mildly interested.

"That must be you," he said. "No way I'm getting get out of here that easy. Gotta wait."

"For what?"

Jean shrugged, and refused to budge. Martin rose to his feet again, leaving Jean to his fate.


	23. Return

**Return**

"Martin Septim?"

The door had returned him to the soft plains with the mountain nearby, the dragon god looking expectantly at Martin. He followed.

"Martin. You are not through."

Martin frowned, not sure what this meant. "What does this mean?"

"If you are willing," Akatosh added. "If your wish is to return, I offer you a chance to do so."

"I... what?" Martin was floored. "Why?"

"If you are willing, so am I."

Martin paused, thinking hard. What reason could there be, but... no. He didn't deserve it.

"Why... why not send Jean or Anna Marie? If anyone, send one of them."

"This will not be an easy task," Akatosh said, completely disregarding his comment. "You have done well, but there is more you must do for Tamriel."

"I... I see." He did not.

"Will you return?" Akatosh asked sternly, looking down at Martin.

"Of course," Martin said, still a little flustered and confused. "As long as Tamriel needs me, I wish to be of service."

"I warn you that your death has greatly changed things."

Martin nodded. "I expected as much."

"More than you expect," Akatosh said carefully. "Remember that the gods have no control over what mortals say or do. We can only point them in the right direction. Free will still reigns."

"As it always has," Martin said.

"And as it will with you. Do not fail us, Martin Septim."

The ethereal world faded around him, the light of the god fading as well. Just as soon as his surroundings faded to black, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as he gasped for air.

His eyes adjusted to the dark, taking a deep breath of fresh air. The room around him looked familiar, but different. Older. More... ruined? No, it was still standing. More what?

Martin stumbled forward, blinking cold blood out of his eyes as he searched for something to lean on. The more he looked around, the more he took in. The chill of the air in Bruma was unmistakable. He had come to in the middle of the Chapel of Talos, empty and dark.

His head was spinning. Something was different, but what? Perhaps that was a side effect of having died and being brought back. Maybe he needed to get used to his body again? Perhaps it had to do with momentarily being one with a god? What _happened?_

Martin made his way outside, tripping drunkenly through the dark, empty city. Trying to remember his way around, he found his way down the path from the temple, looking for someone, anyone he recognized, anyone who could help him.

It wasn't long before the spinning of his head caught up with his body. He tumbled to the ground, slipping in and out of consciousness.

* * *

Towering over him when he woke was a statue wearing a familiar face. Even in the dim light of early sunrise, he could see the smooth stone of the Hero of Bruma.

"Jean?"

Martin forced himself to his feet, studying the statue. It looked ancient, and pieces appeared to be chipped off of it and missing entirely, but it was a remarkably stunning likeness. Had this gone up after they closed the Great Gate? It looked far too old to be a recent construction.

He shook his head. He had no time to wonder about these things. The light made it easier to see, allowing him to wander his way out of the city and find the path leading north, towards Cloud Ruler Temple.

The path was deserted and snowy, but the closer he got to the familiar temple, the uneasier he became. Cloud Ruler Temple did not look whole, great piles of stone torn down from the walls. The heavy wooden doors had been forced off the stone archway, leaving the stairway to the Temple proper completely open. Martin ran towards it, tripping in the snow as he searched for some sign of life, something familiar.

The two little graves by what had once been the wall still stood, but his heart plummeted into his stomach when he saw that one was had been disturbed. Anna Marie lay untouched, but Jean Christophe's grave had been hollowed out, sitting empty where his body has once rested. The Temple had seen battle and siege and possibly worse, but how? Why?

He sprinted up the stairs, searching for someone, anyone who could tell him what had happened. "JAUFFRE!" he shouted, bursting into the Great Hall and finding it deserted. Layers of dust and ash covered the furniture that remained, snow falling in from the shattered windows. "BAURUS!"

"Jean Christophe Azarath."

Martin whipped around. The grizzled Nordic Blade who had announced the name stared at him, trying to piece Martin together. The Blade lowered his hands, the flames within them dimming. "Are you not?" he asked, suspicious.

Martin shook his head, confused, upset and impatient. "My name is—"

"You and Anna were buried not ten paces away," the Blade said, nodding out the door towards the two graves in the snow. "And if that statue in the square looks anything like you, you haven't aged a day."

"You misunderstand—what?" Martin asked, before shaking his head again. "No, no. Do you know where I might find High Chancellor Ocato?"

The Blade's disconcerted frown only deepened. "High Chancellor...?"

"Grandmaster Jauffre, then?" he tried.

The Blade frowned. "No."

"Countess Carvain, Master-Wizard Polus, anyone?" Martin asked, reeling off names he thought he remembered.

The Blade sighed deeply, waving him towards a table. "Come sit. Clearly, you need rest."

"I insist, I am fine!" Martin snapped. "Please, just tell me where I can find the Archmage, or—"

"Cyrodiil has not had an Archmagister for years."

Martin sank into a chair opposite the old man, his mind racing. "What do you mean? Archmage Azarath—"

"—has not been Archmage for centuries," said the Blade, growing more concerned with every word out of Martin's mouth.

Martin ran his hands through his hair, trying to come up with _something_. "What about the Blades?"

The old man glowered at him suspiciously. "Who's asking?"

"I am! Martin!" he shouted, agitated and growing more unsettled by the minute. "I am the Emperor!"

The old man's frown deepened for a moment, then lessened. "Oh, dear."

"What?"

"The Dragonborn?" the old man asked. "Martin Septim, of Kvatch, the avatar of Akatosh?"

"Yes!"

The old Blade sat back in his chair, considering Martin carefully. "Oh, my stars. No. Martin? It can't be, why would...?"

"What are you talking about?" Martin demanded.

"I believe you," the old man said quickly. "I don't know why. I do, but... gods' sakes, who would have thought—"

_"What?"_

"Just, just... wait here, a moment." The old man got up, rooting through a chest and producing a steel shield. "Don't panic," he said slowly, holding up the polished metal surface.

Martin looked at it, and immediately recoiled in shock, clapping a hand over his mouth. This, brown hair and angular face set with scars old and new, covered in blood that was not his own, bright eyes and sharp features, all familiar... but not his own.

"Jean," the Blade repeated.

Martin stared in horror, taking it in. His voice was his own, but his face and body were not. He was taller, and felt stronger, probably due to Jean's decades of working below the law. He felt the same, spoke, smiled, and frowned the same way, Jean's borrowed face expressing Martin's emotions and personality. It was surreal, to see Jean smiling Martin's smile, let alone smiling at all.

"Martin, my name is Esbern," said the old man, setting the shield down on the table. "I am one of the last of the Blades. I can help you."


	24. Esbern

**Esbern**

Martin looked desperately around the almost-familiar surroundings of Cloud Ruler, again wondering how it had fallen. The thorns of Paradise still stood near the fireplace, worn smooth with age. There was a scorch mark on the table beside where Esbern had placed the shield, faded and nearly polished out. He opened his mouth to ask a question, and could not decide what to ask first.

"How did this happen?" Esbern asked. "Why are you here?"

"I..." Martin took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. "I was hoping that Amelie Rose might be here," he said. Esbern stared at him, still stoic and suspicious.

"I can't imagine why you would think that," Esbern said carefully. "But I don't know how much you know."

"I know nothing, clearly," Martin said bitterly.

"Let me help." Esbern leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "It _has _been centuries, Dragonborn. Today is 21st Hearthfire, fourth era 201."

Martin took a deep, steadying breath. Akatosh had offered him a second chance on Nirn. Why would he send him back, centuries after Tamriel needed a ruler most? "How?" he asked.

"Far be it from me to guess how the gods work," Esbern said. "I'm just glad you weren't raised by someone else."

"What's happened?" Martin asked, again looking around the Temple as though he expected someone familiar to walk through the doors.

"Sacked." Esbern sighed grimly. "The Thalmor came and laid siege to this place some years ago. I am only here because they think it deserted."

Not bothering to ask after the Thalmor, Martin searched for something else to ask.

"What happened after I died?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Esbern crossed his arms, thinking. "Well, ah. That's a broad topic."

"Who rules now?"

"Titus Mede II," Esbern answered.

Clearly, Akatosh did not mean for Martin to become Emperor, then. "What happened to the Arcane University?" he asked. "There is no Archmage now, what happened?"

"Asking after the heroes?" Esbern guessed.

Martin bit his lip. "Yes, but... no, I know what happened to Anna Marie and Jean. What happened to the Archmage?"

"Archmage Azarath worked closely with the High Chancellor for a time," Esbern said. "I couldn't tell you why, they hated each other. She and her husband—"

"Husband?" Martin demanded, a little too quickly.

Esbern nodded. "She worked in the Imperial City, he served in Anvil as a guard captain. They both traveled extensively until their deaths."

Martin swallowed hard, rooting through memories and trying to project what had happened. "How did they die?" he asked.

"The Imperial City was sieged by Umbriel some thirty, forty years after you... left," Esbern said. "General consensus is that they died helping their children escape."

"Children?"

"Two daughters." Esbern frowned at him, concerned. "Some records indicate a son too, which might mean a stillborn. The daughters ran to Skyrim, so there's no telling anything further from here."

Martin studied the grain in the dusty wood table. The world had changed so much since his... could he even call it death? What cruel trick of fate was this?

Esbern let out a long, slow breath, eyeing Martin carefully. "What's on your mind, Dragonborn?"

"What?" Martin looked up.

"You're asking questions for a reason," Esbern said. "What do you know that I don't?"

He shook his head, refusing to believe it. "I am searching for Amelie Rose," he said firmly. "If there is the _slightest_ chance she is alive—"

"Have you been listening? Even if she survived Umbriel, it's been centuries," Esbern pointed out. "Amelie Rose is as good as gone. You could be doing a lot of good elsewhere, instead of searching for her."

"I will do what I know is right!" he snapped. "And I must find her!"

With a heavy sigh, Esbern got up, rummaging around in the chest again. "Amelie Rose left a lot of her things in Cloud Ruler Temple. Never bothered to pick it up. Too busy, I suppose."

Martin had a sinking feeling that her being busy had very little to do with it.

"Everything's been studied by historians and amateurs alike. Her daughters, her grandchildren, none of them saw her again after the siege from Umbriel. She's gone."

"There must be something," Martin said. "Anything."

"All I've really got for you is a map." Esbern straightened up, holding a very worn, faded piece of parchment. Amelie's trusted map of Cyrodiil. "There's not much marked on it, Jean's and Anna's were more ink than paper. But there's one spot on hers that doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Many things she did made very little sense," Martin admitted, taking the map. Her name was scrawled multiple times across the top. There were paths, shortcuts, and points of interest all marked on it, little notes to herself written in the margins and near some of the map points.

_Weynon Priory: Allies, trusted. Jauffre (Grandmaster) has the Amulet. Bring Martin (Emperor). Stay on the road._

_Cloud Ruler Temple: Allies, trusted. Martin (Emperor), Baurus (Blades). Do not attack. There are books here._

_Echo Cave: You are alone. Kill Mannimarco (necromancer). Traven trusts you, keep him close._

_Mythic Shrine: Lock your will in the safe before leaving. Trust no one. Get the Amulet and get out._

_Miscarcand: Beware of ghost king. Get Great Welkynd Stone. Hieronymus (Captain) going with you, ask about new post (in Anvil!)._

On the back was a scribbled map of what Martin assumed to be Paradise: _You are alone. The door closed behind you. Stay calm._ _Kill Camoran (ENEMY!). Get the Amulet back at all costs._

These echoes of her existence pierced his heart, bringing tears to his eyes. Was this how she stayed sane? How much did it help? How had she gone on without it?

An inconspicuous dot of black ink, circled once, marked the center of Niben Bay. It bore no notes or scribbles.

"Maybe she went there to die," Esbern suggested. "But burial at sea was never a Breton thing. She was an odd bird, from what I hear, though."

"She was brilliant," Martin corrected. "May I take this map?"

"Where to?" Esbern asked.

"To wherever this is. Wherever it may be, it must lead me to her."

"If you're looking for a pile of bones, you can look on the corner of any street you like," Esbern said. "Why her? What's so important? Mission from the gods?"

"Something like that, yes." Martin got up, still staring down the dot in Niben Bay. Whatever it meant, he intended to find out.

"All right, let's go." Esbern got up as well, stretching. "I haven't been on an adventure in a while."

"Wh... what?"

"I'm going with you. If you truly are the Dragonborn, I should protect you," Esbern explained. "You were Emperor once. Maybe not now, but once upon an era."

"You need not come with me," Martin said. "I can go alone."

"I am a Blade," Esbern protested. "I know what I signed up for. I hope you do, too."

Martin paused. "Even as the Dragonborn, reincarnated or resurrected or..." He shook his head. "I am not sure I know what to do. But I feel it starts in finding Amelie."

"Maybe it's Dragonborn blood telling you what to do. They say it makes you think differently." Esbern grabbed a pair of swords, tossing one in its sheath to Martin. "I know Jean was more of an archer, but I don't know about you."

"I have never aimed an arrow in my life."

"This or the last?" Esbern laughed. "Come on, let's get moving."


	25. The Gates of Madness

**The Gates of Madness**

Martin and Esbern traveled through the night, reaching Bravil before daybreak. Martin made the unassisted decision to walk along the shore of Niben Bay, looking for any sign of Amelie himself. Esbern followed, keeping a careful eye out.

There was nothing out there. The rising sun illuminated nothing but water in the bay, the flat surface of the water betraying nothing.

"I don't know about this, Martin," Esbern said doubtfully. "Even if the map _was_ accurate, it's been 200 years. Whatever we're looking for might have been destroyed, or flooded out, or gods know what."

"There must be _something,"_ Martin insisted.

Esbern frowned at him. "As the Archmage I'm sure she could have done some serious damage to a place if she wanted to. The Thalmor might have gotten to it if she didn't."

"You are wrong," Martin said absently, scanning the waters again. "There must be something out here."

A faint blue light caught Martin's eye, from beneath the still waters of the bay. It was difficult to see very far out, but it looked like something... very magical. Something special, unique, and that _did not_ belong in Niben Bay.

"What are you doing?" Esbern asked.

Martin was staring into the water, his face an inch from the water's surface.

"It must be down there."

"It? It what?"

Taking a deep breath, Martin plunged his head into the water, trying to get a better look.

On an island in the middle of the bottom of the bay stood a strange door, a mysterious looking, otherworldly portal. A distinct blue light shone from the portal, reflecting in odd patterns around the misshapen bay. What appeared to be three conjoined stone heads framed the portal, overgrown with algae and seaweeds, each displaying drastically different expressions, joined at the eyes. The foliage was unlike anything Martin had ever seen in Cyrodiil's waters.

Martin came back up, soaking wet but with renewed determination.

"And what was that supposed to accomplish?" Esbern asked, looking all the time as though he thought Martin was becoming more and more insane by the minute.

"That must be it. Down there, on the bottom of the bay, there is an island with a door. A portal of some sort."

Esbern stared at him. "I'll find a boat."

They rowed towards the center of the bay, wondering what could possibly be there. As they approached the center of the bay, her final destination in Cyrodiil became clear. The image of the submerged island became clearer as they got closer.

"We're really going in there?" Esbern asked. "We have no idea where it goes."

"And we never will unless we do," Martin said. "If there is the remotest possibility that she is there..." He shook his head. "I must see for myself."

"I suppose it's possible," Esbern said. "She had to have done all that wild research in her notes somewhere, and it sure wasn't in Cyrodiil."

Balancing carefully, Martin stood up, taking another deep breath. He dove into the water, Esbern right behind him.

They swam deeper and deeper, the door getting closer, the light shining brighter. As Martin approached it, he thought he heard voices, laughter or screaming. Or both? A strange, turbulent presence was on the other side. With a nervous glance towards Esbern, he passed through it.

* * *

_**"UNWORTHY. UNWORTHY, UNWORTHY!"**_

* * *

The ominous ticking of a metronome greeted them on the other side. The room was dark, but clearly occupied. A man sat at a desk, reading, as the water of the bay mysteriously cut out. Martin and Esbern came crashing to the floor, soaked to the bone.

"Hm? Oh. Visitors."

Shockingly, Martin recognized the man in the room as the elderly Breton man Amelie had summoned the day he had died. The man closed his book, and stood up to greet them.

"Yes? How can I be of service?" he asked.

"You... I know you," Martin said, clambering to his feet.

"Ah, yes. Jean?" the man asked loftily. "We were all under the impression that you had died. Where have you been?"

"I... no, I am Martin Septim," Martin explained.

"As I understand, Martin is also dead," the stranger pointed out.

"That's what I told him," Esbern said, wringing out his clothes.

"My name is Haskill. What can I do for you?" Haskill magicked up two flasks of something warm, offering them to Martin and Esbern. They looked suspiciously at the steaming brown liquid inside.

"No thank you," Esbern said cautiously.

"For goodness sake, I will not have you in the Isles with chills or the shakes. For all I know, you could have rockjoint or something equally horrendous," Haskill snapped, forcing the drinks on them. "Now, will you tell me what you're after or shall I simply kick you both back out?"

"We are looking for Amelie Rose," Martin said, sipping the liquid. It was a pleasantly warm and calming tea, if a little bitter.

"I know her well," Haskill said.

"Is she here?"

"Not in this exact spot, no," Haskill said, sarcastically deadpan as ever. "She arrived back in the realm quite a long time ago."

"But she _is_ around?" Esbern asked incredulously. "She's alive?"

"Of course she is," Haskill said, almost indignant enough to not sound perpetually bored. "We take very good care of her."

Martin ran a hand through his hair, questions spinning around his head that he didn't have the chance to ask.

"Can we see her?" Esbern asked.

"If you can reach her," Haskill said. "I do not believe that she knows you are here. Doubtless, she would have told me if she expected you. Although lately, it has been hard to tell with her."

"Where can we find her?" Martin asked desperately.

"You should first seek to pass the Gates of Madness, due east of here," Haskill said. "Get through Passwall and you will have no trouble finding it. If you can get past that nasty Gatekeeper, I will tell you more."

"Gatekeeper?" Martin asked, envisioning a bridge troll or more daedra.

"A truly vile creation of my lady's," Haskill said. "A sorceress created it after my lady slew the first. As I understand, it has quite the temper and rather dislikes strangers."

"Impossible," Martin said. "Amelie would never create such an evil thing."

Haskill sighed. "I agree. She is a terrible madgod, but a wonderful peacekeeper. Will the wonders never cease in her rule?"

"Madgod?" Esbern asked, alarms clearly raised in his mind.

"I advise you not to keep my lady waiting," Haskill said, vanishing.

A moment later, the darkness of the room evaporated, butterflies of every shape, size, and color flying away where walls had once been. As the butterflies dispersed, the room gave way to a cobblestone pathway, surrounded by strange plants and odd animals.

Esbern looked down the path. "East, then?"

The two of them headed down the path, searching for any sign of civilization. After a while, they encountered what appeared to be the remains of a city, overrun by crystalline structures.

"Where do you think we are?" Esbern asked.

"If I had to take a guess, I would say we have stumbled into the madhouse of Sheogorath," Martin said reflectively as they started down the path again.

Esbern tutted judgmentally, shaking his head. "I think it's interesting that Amelie should be here, but at the same time I'm not surprised," Esbern said.

"Amelie was vehemently against daedra worship," Martin informed him. "I see no reason for her to be here at all."

"Think about it," Esbern said. "If what I know is right, she lost everything. Her husband, her son, her family, you. Back then, another Master-Wizard could have ascended to Archmage and taken care of the Mages Guild and the Council of Mages, and the High Chancellor would handle the Empire in your absence. With Anna and Jean gone, then what's left?"

Martin frowned, guilty. Was that the sort of life Amelie had led?

"That must be the Gatekeeper."

They mounted a set of marble steps to find a bust of Sheogorath, two doors, and a frightening creature easily four times their size. It had a sword for a hand, and an angry expression on a head the size of Martin's torso.

"I don't like this," Esbern said, crouching on the stairs as he looked at the creature. "I DO NOT like this. There is _no way_ this ends well."

"Lately, nothing has ended well," Martin pointed out.


	26. Harshness

**Harshness**

Martin watched the Gatekeeper pace angrily around the statue, drawing his sword. Never in his wildest imaginings could he have seen Amelie creating such a thing. Perhaps it was a trick?

He nodded, approaching the creature with Esbern right behind him. It took only a moment before the creature noticed them, and came stomping up to them, sword raised.

It stopped just short of them, gazing inquisitively down at them. The anger seemed to vanish from it, and it crashed down, sitting docilely before them.

"I... am confused," Martin said, lowering his sword.

"As am I," Esbern confessed.

Martin studied the creature, curious. It no longer bore any hostility towards them, resembling a monstrous, faintly dangerous toddler. The creature stared back at him, eyes empty but clearly alive. Now that he had a closer look at it, he could see that it was not a _whole_ creature, but parts of other creatures that had been cobbled together to form the monster. Metal spikes had been driven into its joints and limbs to hold its variant limbs together, creaking and grating unpleasantly whenever the creature moved. How could this be? Amelie had _hated_ necromancy.

"This is most impressive."

Haskill appeared beside the Gatekeeper, also examining it with mild interest. "The Gatekeeper has never reacted in such a way to anyone but myself, Relmyna, and my lord and lady. Perhaps she does know of your arrival."

"What do you mean?" Martin asked.

"The Gatekeeper was made to keep those not blessed by Sheogorath out of the Shivering Isles," Haskill explained. "Perhaps you have been blessed."

Martin exchanged confused looks with Esbern. Nothing made sense.

"You don't have to understand," Haskill said simply. "Let me get you the keys. They will get you to Mania and Dementia, the two halves of the Shivering Isles. Both will lead you to the same place."

"Which is...?" Esbern asked.

"You should advance to New Sheoth as soon as you can," Haskill said. "The Sacellum of Arden-Sul is accessible from both Bliss and Crucible, the respective capitols of Mania and Dementia. I advise you to proceed to the Sacellum at once."

Haskill snapped his fingers at the Gatekeeper. The Gatekeeper snapped to attention, getting back on its feet. Haskill held out his hand, into which the Gatekeeper placed two keys.

Haskill passed them off to Martin before disappearing, the Gatekeeper resuming its duties patrolling the statue of Sheogorath.

"Ok. How do we do this?" Esbern asked, sheathing his sword while Martin examined the keys. One was emblazoned with a yellow flower set against a vibrant green; the other was dark and only glinted a deep, almost blackish shade of purple in the sunlight.

"It seems as though both paths will lead us to the same place," Martin said.

"Should we split up?" Esbern looked at the foreboding wall separating Passwall from the rest of the realm. "Although... no, I get the feeling that might be a bad idea."

Holding the pair of keys, Martin decided on the brighter of the two. "We shall take the path in Mania," he decided.

"All right, let's go."

Martin unlocked the leftmost door, and opened it.

On the other side of the door was a brightly lit, colorful world. The trees and plants were of every shape and color, each more unnatural and unusual than the next. Butterflies floated to and fro on the breeze, flying from flower to bright, yellow flower.

"Hail, citizen."

A passing woman in golden armor greeted them cordially before doing a double-take and studying them more closely.

"H-Hello."

"Jean?" the soldier said. "This is not your realm. Why are you here?"

"Martin," he corrected.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Martin. You should proceed immediately to New Sheoth," she told them. "The Sacellum of Arden-Sul is your goal."

"I see."

"Continue east," she advised them. "It is impossible to miss New Sheoth. Walk with our Lord."

They traveled to the east, crossing over a hill as the bright sun soon gave way to dim, colorful night skies filled with shining stars. The landscape had become dark, tangled with roots and gloom. A handful of ghosts wandered lost, talking to themselves and refusing even to acknowledge them. Martin turned his eyes to the sky, trying to find something familiar to comfort him.

"Even the constellations are different here," he noted. "How can it be that we pass through a door in Cyrodiil and find ourselves somewhere where not even the stars above are the same?"

The suddenly dreary landscape occasionally gave way to the bright one they had entered into, the disconnect between the two stark and jarring. What few people they saw appeared to match their surroundings: bright and cheery, or pessimistic and paranoid. Martin kept to the path, trying to piece it all together and coming up hopelessly empty.

A walled city greeted them at last. Outside was posted two opposing women, one in familiar golden armor and another in dark black and purple. Both of them recognized him.

"Jean yet lives," the darker of the two said. "You must proceed into the city, Sheogorath is waiting for you."

"Sh... Sheogorath?"

The one in dark armor who had spoken opened the door. "I will escort you myself," she said. "Come, follow."

* * *

"My good friends, a most jubilant time is once again at hand. The Flame of the Maniacs burns bright, and we must celebrate!"

Martin and Esbern entered the Sacellum to hear a priest shouting.

"Now is a time for indulgence. Partake of the wine and the greenmote! Cast off your clothing and your inhibitions! Sing and dance until the sun rises! Feast until your belly is full, then fill the wine goblets once more and toast our fortune."

As they mounted the stairs, they saw a little man in red robes at the pulpit, ardently preaching his liturgy. The armored woman shushed them, and led them inside.

"We shall raise our goblets to the great Sheogorath, may she rule the Isles for a hundred years more. We shall raise our goblets to the Demented. Though misguided they are, we are all children of Arden-Sul's teachings and therefore equal. And finally, we shall raise our goblets to the great Arden-Sul: poet, thespian, author, lover, virtuoso, and artisan extraordinaire."

She led them to a worship bench in the back of the Sacellum, which seemed entirely unnecessary, as the Sacellum appeared to be deserted.

"To be a Maniac is to love and be loved. Spread the compassion and the warmth throughout New Sheoth and beyond. Smile at your fellow man. Help him when he falls. Remember, these are the times of mirth and cheer. These are the times of Mania!"

Another priest, this one in green, was seen sitting at a bench near the front, looking bored. He got up as the priest finished his sermon, and descended from the pulpit.

"I don't like you, and I don't want to talk to you," the red priest said immediately, turning away from him.

"Goodbye, then."

The two priests sat in a huff, each on opposing ends of the Sacellum.

"That... was odd," Martin said in a hushed tone.

"I agree." Esbern frowned, looking towards the front of the Sacellum. A willowy, frail-looking woman in a familiar looking purple gown trimmed in green and gold was sitting in a pew, posture perfect with a silver-haired braid down her back.

"That looks like..."

Martin approached her cautiously, heart racing. Her attention did not move from the altar. She tilted her head to the side, still staring at the altar. Her now-fragile hands gently turned a modest silver wedding ring around her finger.

"The one time Dervenin is sober enough to give a halfway decent service, the citizens of Bliss fail to attend. This is aggravating. Perhaps I ought to swap the flame again."

She stood up, facing them. Her face was tired, worn. She had aged considerably, but by some miracle was still alive. Her voice was darker, shakier, her speech slower. But the glint in her eyes, her clear, brown eyes, was unmistakable. "And yet, interesting. Jean, you must be tired, I wondered if you would ever come again."

Rather confused by the lack of reaction, Martin touched her shoulder. "Amelie... no, I'm sorry. It's Martin."

Her eyes narrowed at the sound of his voice, as though she were thinking, confused. The glimmer faded, her eyes searching his face.

"Less interesting. Please, come. I have plenty of space to put you up."

Amelie walked out the door, seeming to expect them to follow. Exchanging a hurried, confused look, Martin and Esbern followed.

"Amelie, what are you doing here?" Martin asked as they followed her out. She was elderly and had certainly counted every year that had passed in his absence, and yet she was alive! She was up and about, walking and talking as if nothing was wrong. "How are you—"

"I am in charge here," Amelie said simply. "I rule. And as such, I should be asking you just what the pair of you think _you_ are doing here."

"How have you managed to stay alive for so long?" Esbern asked, clearly intrigued.

"Sheer force of will," she told him. Something in her harsh tone told Martin she was not serious. "What about you, Martin?"

Baffled, Esbern looked to Martin for an explanation.

"Please, do tell," Amelie said, still walking ahead of them. That she could walk unaided at her age was nothing short of a marvel. "It is wrong and I don't appreciate it, but I do find it interesting. The suspense is killing me." She cast a disinterested glance over her shoulder. "Or you, if I must keep waiting."

"That's... this is her? This can't be what she was like in Cyrodiil," Esbern said in a hushed voice. "Can you be sure it's her and not some Daedric impersonator?"

"It's her," Martin said. "It must be."

"How do you know?"

"Eyes," Martin said, narrowing his own as he thought he remembered something. "Were she an impostor, her eyes would be Daedric and gold."

They almost walked into Amelie, who had turned around to face them without them noticing. She frowned sternly at them, arms crossed.

"I dislike secrets," she told them. "And I also dislike being ignored. And having spent the entire week dealing with errant residents of Dementia, _Jean—"_

"Martin."

"—I am not in the best of moods to begin with." Amelie glared at him again. "I advise you to tread lightly in this world of the mad."

"I... I apologize," Martin said. "We meant no disrespect."

"Come now, inside," Amelie said, opening the door to the palace grounds.

"I stand ready, Sheogorath," a pair of soldiers in dark armor said as they passed.

"At your command, Sheogorath," another soldier in gold seemingly out on a patrol round said.

"Something is very, very wrong here," Esbern said, looking around. "I don't like this."

"Nor do I," Martin said. "The sooner we get Amelie out of here, the better."

"What makes you think she's going to come with us?"

Amelie held open the door to the palace, nodding to someone within.

"Ah, you've arrived." Haskill greeted them inside the palace. "I anticipated your arrival to be much later."

"So you've already met Haskill," Amelie said. "Good. I expected nothing less of you."

Haskill beamed at her. "A glorious existence, truly."

"Now then." Amelie walked up a long carpet, split between red and black. "Have you any questions, now is the time."

Being given such an open-ended opportunity stumped the two men into silence. Amelie took her place on a stone throne as she propped her staff up against it, eyes trained on the pair of them. Haskill nudged them gently.

"I am sure it is considered proper etiquette to kneel before your lord in your realm," Haskill said quietly. "I must ask that you kneel before mine."

"Your... lord?"

Haskill nodded towards Amelie. "My Lady Sheogorath is quite the stickler for politesse. I advise you to comply."

Caught between utter confusion and somehow taking offense, Martin obeyed. Esbern hesitantly followed. Amelie shook her head disapprovingly at Haskill before returning her attention to them.

"I may have all day, but the two of you certainly do not."

"I... I beg your pardon?" Esbern asked, concerned, looking up.

"I imagine you must return to Cyrodiil as soon as possible," Amelie said. "With Martin alive, _somehow,_ it is nothing short of incomprehensible, what you are doing wasting our time here in New Sheoth."

"I don't understand."

"This is my realm," Amelie said simply. "The Shivering Isles has a ruler. Cyrodiil does not."

"Titus Mede—"

"Not truly," she appended, cutting Esbern off. "It is a simple equation, and you are on the wrong side of it."

"But Cyrodiil DOES have a ruler—"

"I understand," Martin said, before Esbern could say any more. He was still staring at the ground. "And I have no desire to take over the Shivering Isles."

"Good. Then explain yourself," Amelie said, leaning forward. "You die, are alive, and enter through the Gates of Madness. Those things are not usually done in that order. Those things are not usually done at all. You can understand my puzzlement."

"Of course," Martin said, catching her gaze. "We came to seek an audience with you."

Amelie stared back at him, unimpressed. "Well, what do you think this is?" she asked finally. "I asked if you had any questions, and you answer me with this? I am losing my patience with you."

"Amelie, why are you here?" Martin asked desperately, getting up. Amelie frowned at him, annoyed.

"Are you not listening?" she asked, her frown of annoyance becoming one of anger. "I rule here. I am here, because I rule. And because I rule, I stay here. It is a very simple thing, I tell you."

"I _am_ listening," Martin protested, approaching her throne. "You left Cyrodiil to rule the Shivering Isles, but why? You clearly had to leave the Shivering Isles to help me in Cyrodiil. Why did you leave your empire behind then?"

Amelie angrily replied, "I go where I am needed."

"Cyrodiil needs you still," Martin said. "Come back!"

"No," Amelie snapped. "Leaving the Isles was a _mistake_ I am not keen to repeat. I am sure _your_ people are no less thrilled with your sudden departure than _my_ citizens were with mine!"

"Stop this!" Martin shouted at last. He climbed up the few steps to her throne, the two guards on either side immediately raising their weapons. "This is not where you belong, you must return to Cyrodiil with us—"

_"ENOUGH!"_ Amelie shouted back, getting to her feet. The guards crossed their longswords before her, blocking Martin's path to her. She glared up at him, outraged. "You are neither Prince nor Lord, you have no power over me. Who do you think you are, to tell me where I belong and what I must do?"

"I am your Emperor," Martin said, mustering all the authority he could in his voice. "I am the Dragonborn, Martin Septim, Emperor of Cyrodiil."

"You are clearly lost," Amelie said, her voice even and calculated. "We are not in Cyrodiil, and you are no longer the Emperor."

The guards simultaneously struck with the flats of their blades, sending Martin wheeling backwards. He crashed into the ground by Esbern, who immediately took up arms.

"Stand down," Amelie said, to no one in particular. The guards lowered their weapons obediently, but Esbern did no such thing.

"You may have been a Knight Sister once, but I can't allow you to treat my lord this way!" Esbern snapped, charging at her. Amelie's guards looked concerned, but did not budge. As he reached her, Amelie grabbed her staff. In one fluid movement, she swung it up, catching it in both hands and holding Esbern off with the length of it. She pushed against him, sending out a brilliant blue shockwave of energy. Esbern was sent flying back, landing in a heap next to Martin.

_"Ye really shouldn't'a done that!"_ Amelie shouted, a harsh and somehow familiar accent in her voice as her guards backed down, the blue light fading away. She planted her staff firmly on the ground beside her, sparks flying as she continued. "Ye dare to enter m' realm, and continue t' play by your rules? The game is different here! The rules are mine! And they're always, _always_ changing," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

"Amelie, we—"

She looked down at them, angry. "This audience 'as ended," she said dismissively. They did not move.

"Haskill," she said finally.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I think our guests have forgotten how t' use the door," she said, eyes fixed on them. "Remind them."

Haskill dutifully approached them, waited for them to get up, and began dragging them towards a door in the room.


	27. The Wandering Kind

**The Wandering Kind**

"Although I'm sure the results were not to your liking, I rather enjoyed seeing my lady in such a rage," Haskill said pleasantly once they were through the door. "It isn't often that my lady loses her temper so."

"Perhaps she really has been driven mad," Esbern suggested. "Maybe that's why she's here. It would explain a lot," he added bitterly, nursing a bruise on his head.

"I have very little knowledge of what happened to her while I was gone," Martin said. "But whatever it is... it must be curable."

"Curable?" Haskill asked, affronted. "You speak as though she is diseased."

"It _has_ been 200 years, Martin," Esbern said. "That she's alive is a wonder in and of itself. Time changes people."

"But... it's as though she has become a different person," Martin persisted.

Haskill sighed. "I have always found the people of Cyrodiil to be rather uneducated. Please, sit. You are free to eat. The food of the Demented is sometimes safer than that of the Manics."

A long table set for four sat in the middle of the room. The calm blue light of the fires lit the way as the took their places. They sat down, Martin looking down at the food before taking a sip of something he suspected was wine.

"Why?" Esbern asked.

"Fewer hallucinogens, you see. More poison, though."

Martin briefly contemplated downing the rest of the wine, and decided against it. Amelie did not join them. They did not eat.

"Amelie, as you know her, began her ascent to ruling the Shivering Isles many years ago," Haskill explained. "My lord Sheogorath needed a champion. I imagine she came from the shrine, and the confusion surrounding the door is what brought her here."

"The door in Cyrodiil?" Martin asked.

"Yes. She was particularly concerned about a young Dunmer man who entered the realms inadequately prepared. He departed for Cyrodiil quite a mess, from what I understand. My lady told me that he had to be slain."

"So Sheogorath was killing people?" Esbern asked.

"No. My lord never killed a soul in Cyrodiil," Haskill said, mildly offended. "He needed someone, _alive_, to protect his realm from the Greymarch. When Jyggalag invades the realm, Sheogorath must rebuild from scratch. Had the Greymarch proceeded as usual, not a single person in the realm would still be alive."

"Amelie was a strong opponent of daedra worship. I cannot see her willingly acceding to Sheogorath's wishes," Martin said skeptically.

"It took convincing," Haskill admitted. "But no worship. The threat of manslaughter is an excellent motivator. My lady reached her current position through a great contrivance of fate, one could say."

"What do you mean?"

"My lord Sheogorath has understood from the very beginning that she and hers would never serve him. And so, from the very beginning, he sought to shape her in his image." Haskill shrugged loftily. "We simply reminded her that, if she did not comply, the Greymarch would arrive unopposed, causing the needless death of all those in the Isles blessed by Sheogorath. Herself included."

Martin stared down at a silver plate, guilty. Had she only complied in order to return to Cyrodiil and aid him?

"Whatever the case," Haskill said. "She ended the Greymarch, and took the place of my lord Sheogorath. She has turned out to be quite an effective ruler since her return. The Isles have never known a more peaceful, more _boring_ time."

"I see."

"Well... what do we do now?" Esbern asked, looking to Martin.

Martin paused thoughtfully before responding. "I must try to reach her."

"I cannot see my lady agreeing to another audience tonight," Haskill said warningly.

"Just be patient with me," Martin said. "Please. Can you tell me where I might find her?"

"At this hour?" Haskill paused. "Difficult to say. She is likely to be working in her quarters. To which I _will not_ take you," he added quickly.

"What if she is elsewhere?" Martin asked. "Where might she be?"

"Perhaps speaking with the Keeper of the Library, or reconciling Split for the dozenth time. She has been known to wander around Bliss and Crucible, speaking with the citizens. Although..." Haskill paused again, thinking. "If the duelists are on the rooftops tonight, she will not be in Crucible... is that tonight? I can never remember their schedule."

"What I think you're getting at is that Amelie is damned impossible to find," Esbern said with a frown.

Haskill was unmoved. "My lady is a busy woman."

"If she enjoys wandering, then I will wander too," Martin said resolutely, getting up.

* * *

While the rest of the Isles fell into a peaceful sleep, Martin wandered around New Sheoth, half wishing he had a torch. On the one hand, it was difficult to see at night, but on the other hand, the light from the various lanterns and lights in the cities of Bliss and Crucible made things somewhat easier to navigate.

The Isles were quiet, and when it came down to it, beautiful. After an unsuccessful few hours of getting strange looks in Bliss, Martin made his way back to the palace, ascending the stairs to the plateau before the doors to the castle. Looking around, he saw a beautiful view of the Isles, all its strange flora and fauna, the colors of the sky casting everything in an odd, mad light.

Voices came from somewhere above him.

"...'m tellin' ye, it's a gnarl."

"No, that is clearly a mudcrab."

"We don' even 'ave those in the Isles! It's a gnarl!"

"That does not mean it cannot appear in the sky. It's a mudcrab. A rather passive one, at that."

"It's a gnarl, and it wants t' stab out yer eyes, rosy."

"It has six legs, gnarls only have three."

"Poor mutated gnarl. Mother never loved 'im, and dad scuttled out on 'is own hatchlings." A bellowing laugh. "Don't that sound familiar. Let's put it out of its misery."

"It is not a gnarl, it is a mudcrab! Where do you get these remarkable notions?"

"Yer forgettin' who I am."

"Forget _you_. If ever I could."

Laughter. Martin looked up. Standing above him on the upper level balcony were two shadowy figures. One, he recognized as Amelie. The other was faintly transparent, someone he had never seen before. He bore a harsh, animated accent the likes of which Martin could now recognize. Their relationship sounded like one of friendship.

"So, little rose. All the mortals tend to be sleepin' about now, y'ought to know that."

"Yes, all the mortals sleep, while we argue about creatures in the stars and luxuries such as rest."

They fell silent for a moment, looking up at the sky before the stranger spoke again.

"Thought ye'd've long since run back to Cyrodiil. And ye haven't abandoned me yet," he said, impressed.

"I am offended that you think I lacked the strength to stay and help you."

"What's keepin' ye, rosy?" he asked.

"You. It is _your_ throne, not mine."

"Ye stay here much longer, ye'll be as mad as me. Or worse, madder."

Amelie sighed. "The Shivering Isles has rather grown on me. Surprisingly, so have you."

The stranger let out a hearty laugh. "Oho! Don' go thinkin' I doubt ye there! I caught wind o' yer little speech earlier, after that nasty Nord went at ye."

She shrugged. "I find it easiest to channel you when I am angry. Learn from the best, right?"

"I'm delighted. But doubtless, ye've got to get back home. To yer husband, kids?"

"That was a long time ago."

"All th' same—"

"Two hundred years."

"—and a good life they lived, I'm sure."

Amelie leaned forward on the railing of the balcony, hands together. She fiddled with her wedding ring, looking reminiscent. "Hieronymus, Mariana, Helene... I do miss them, yes, but not nearly enough to take up necromancy. Legalized," she added bitterly. _"Bastards."_

Sheogorath laughed. "That's m' girl."

"I only hope Hieronymus will forgive me for making him wait so long in the afterlife."

"What makes ye think he's waiting?"

Silence. Uncomfortable, prolonged silence.

"How about our friend Jean?" Sheogorath prompted. "I hear he's made a right lovely comeback from bein' dead."

"I see your attention span is poor as always."

The stranger leaned forward beside her, his transparent face faintly illuminated in the dark. Martin recognized the visage from the statues and busts all around the Shivering Isles. The Daedric prince Sheogorath, dressed in gold and purple reminiscent of Amelie's seemingly standard attire here.

"Ye're avoidin' m' question."

"Jean is not back," Amelie corrected. "Don't get excited. Something strange has happened. Martin has stolen his body for _gods_ know what."

"I don't suppose ye'll be running off with him, then."

"No!" Amelie snapped.

"Always did take ye for the type to settle down 'n marry. What're ye still doin' here, worryin' Haskill with yer widowish ways?"

"I did marry. And it worked out wonderfully." Amelie crossed her hands on the railing, gazing up at the stars. "But now, everyone I once knew in Cyrodiil is long dead, and I see no need to remarry. And Haskill will agree with me."

"_Sure_ he will, we couldn't get ye to shut up about all them lucky fellas way back when! This, that, 'n the other one, always on an' on!"

"You know Jean was my brother, I had every right to go on about him. And Hieronymus, my husband."

"That don't explain why ye're not on the arm o' some gilded, knife-wieldin' idiot."

Amelie could not help but laugh. "I believe quite a few of the knights and warriors would take offense to that," she said, grinning. "My late husband included. But things are different in Cyrodiil now."

"Oh? How d'ye figure that, rosy?" Sheogorath asked. "Because Tamriel's not gettin' gutted by Mehrunes anymore?"

"Because Tamriel has gone to the dogs, have you heard nothing?"

"Obviously not. So, then!"

Sheogorath leaned further forward, looking down at Martin, his expression a mix between curious and condescending. "Remind me who exactly this one is, I'm losin' track. I'll really have t' start kickin' people outta m' realm soon."

"I—"

"Martin?" Amelie leaned forward as well, looking confused.

"Martin."

"The Emperor," she clarified to Sheogorath. "Once, at least."

"Well, that answers that, then!" Sheogorath grinned deviously at him. "So _this_ is the one that got 'em killed."

"Not in so many words, but yes," Amelie said flatly, doing nothing to soothe Martin's guilt.

Sheogorath peered down at him from the balcony, nearly bent over double. "Ye figure anyone'd mind if I fed ye t' the Gatekeeper, then?"

"Wh-What?"

Amelie swatted her hand through Sheogorath's face, a look of mild amusement on her face. "You must not suggest such things. If he dies here, suspicion will be raised. People from Cyrodiil will begin invading your Fringe. We can hardly have that, now can we?"

"Ye know I _hate_ it when people get all up in m' Fringe."

Without warning, Sheogorath bounded off the balcony, landing on his feet with a surprisingly solid crash in front of Martin. "Hahaa! Nice work, rosy."

"Don't undo it all." Amelie followed, hopping off the balcony and landing gracefully beside the ghostly Prince.

"I don't know what ye think ye're doing here, but I won't stand fer I," Sheogorath said, suddenly formidable. "Either of ye. Which is which?"

"Unless he is playing the _cruelest_ of tricks on me, Jean is still dead," Amelie confirmed. "As is Anna. Martin, why are you out and about in the middle of the night? I thought you would be heading back to Tamriel by now."

"Because... because I wish you would come home with me," Martin told her lamely.

Amelie sighed over-dramatically. "We have been through this already," she said. "My home is here, it always has been. I will remain, if only to continue my responsibilities as ruler of the realm. My time in Cyrodiil is through."

"Do you know that for sure?" Martin asked, trying to ignore Sheogorath's intimidating presence. He may have posed no physical threat, but something about the Shivering Isles suggested that that counted for very little.

Amelie rolled her eyes, shooting Sheogorath a look until he retreated. The ghost of the madgod leaned back against the wall of the castle, maintaining a watchful eye as he balanced his staff in the palm of his hand.

"There is very little I know for sure," she said carefully, sitting down on the ledge overlooking the palace gardens. "And even then, I am often unsure of things I think I know."

"Really. Will you tell me about your father?" Martin asked, sitting down beside her.

"I never knew my father," Amelie said immediately. "And if I did, I cannot remember."

"LIES," snapped Sheogorath. Amelie turned to throw a rock through his chest. _"RUDE."_

"BE QUIET."

"Then tell me about mine," Martin said. "My father the farmer."

Amelie paused again, turning to stare at the sky with that lost look in her eyes. "A good man," she said. "How happy I was that a man like him was responsible for you."

"You do remember."

"Oh, I do. I remember you are born under the sign of the Lord," Amelie said. "And I the Lady. My sister was born under the Warrior, and my brother under the Thief."

"Right." A smile crept onto his face.

"I remember my sister was killed by daedra," Amelie went on, Martin's smile vanishing. "And my brother was killed by daedra. And you..." She broke off.

"I wasn't—"

"You were as _good_ as killed by daedra. Went and got yourself turned to stone," Amelie said, turning to look at him at last with a hardness in her eyes he had never seen there before. "Rather, Akatosh got himself turned to stone with you inside. You were still alive, though?" she guessed.

"No," said Martin grimly.

"But you came back," Amelie persisted.

"In a way." Martin frowned. "Amelie, stop this. Why are you here?"

"In this realm of madmen?" Amelie swallowed her words, biting her tongue for a long moment before responding. "Because I belong among them."


	28. Death

**Death**

"You are not mad," Martin said reassuringly. "I refuse to believe it, you are—"

"I am as good as mad," Amelie snapped at him. "I belong here, and nothing will change that."

"Why should you be here?" he demanded.

"I _refuse_ to keep discussing—"

"I knew your home as Anvil, come back with me and I will walk the coast with you," Martin implored her. "I will take you to Bravil, we can watch the stars rise over the bay. Come with me to Bruma so we can visit Anna Marie and Jean—"

Amelie outright laughed. "Not anymore, clearly!" she scoffed. "What makes you think there is _anything_ left for me in Cyrodiil? What will it take to convince you? You know the story by now, surely."

Martin paused. "Even if I do, I wish to hear it from you."

Amelie looked as though she might hit him, instead crossing her arms as she spoke. "After you died, I continued work as the Archmage. I went north and studied for a time before returning to University. Hieronymus and I married a few years after the end of the war, we raised a small family. They married and did well for themselves, and he was killed when our children were grown." She let her hands fall to her sides. "I let them think I had died with him. And I came here."

"Why here?" Martin asked. "I knew you in life as a staunch opponent of Daedric Prince worship, what happened?"

"I do_ not_ worship Sheogorath," Amelie said firmly. "We are awkward equals in this endeavor. But, soon enough, he will be unopposed once again."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, alarmed.

"You wish to know WHY I left my children and came here?" Amelie demanded, completely snapping. "You wish to hear from ME why I abandoned my family for this seemingly fruitless endeavor?"

"Amelie, I—"

_"No, you listen to me!"_ Amelie snapped angrily. "This is not about you, and it never has been!"

"No, Amelie—"

"It is so that my years as Archmage can be put to use! It is so that the Daedric Prince Sheogorath can sit on his own throne again, rather than me, his sanctioned champion! It is so that I can lay my failures to rest and join my husband, my family, and _you_ in death!" she shouted.

Crestfallen, Martin searched her elderly face for a trace of anything familiar. Did she have nothing left in her heart but resentment and regrets? While he knew the feeling, he would never have wished it on anyone else.

"I _failed_ to keep my sister safe, I _failed_ to keep my brother alive, I _failed_ to keep you on this planet, I _failed_ to keep my son from death, I _failed_ to save my husband from death, _I failed, Martin!"_ she raged. "In this life, in this tedious, heavy life, I have failed more than I have accomplished. And in that, I wish nothing more than to be absolved of responsibility in its entirety before my long overdue death."

Martin racked his brains for some way to calm her. "That's not true—"

_"It's as GOOD as true!"_ Amelie spat, seething. "I... have had enough of this. I cannot pretend I am not disappointed in the gods now."

"What? Whatever for?"

"For necromancing you back into a time when you can do no good for Tamriel," Amelie said, voice breaking. "I used to wish to see you again, if only for a moment, to hear your voice, imagining the joy I would feel to know that you..." She shook her head, unable to continue.

"Hear me now," he said, gathering every ounce of courage he had. "Amelie, I—"

"I care _nothing_ for what you have to say," she said, coldly cutting him off. "Your words are useless to me."

Wounded, Martin stared back at her, silent. From the wall behind them, Sheogorath applauded sarcastically.

"I knew ye'd come around," he called, walking towards them. Amelie turned away from them, walking back towards the castle. "Come on. Leave the poor wretch be."

"Wait!" Martin ran after her, determined to persevere no matter what it meant. "Amelie!"

* * *

He was in the room long before the sun rose. He'd stolen a pair of copper cooking pots from the kitchens, and was about to make good use of them. Even in the low light of the early, pre-dawn morning, it was easy to see him in Amelie's bed.

How cute.

Sheogorath sneakily crept up beside the bed, when all at once, a green surge of silencing magicka hit him square in the chest. She caught the pots before they hit the ground, placing them gently on the windowsill beside the chair where she sat.

"And just what do you think you are doing here?" Amelie asked shrewdly as Sheogorath cast a quick dispel charm.

"Don' ye _sleep_ anymore?" Sheogorath asked rhetorically. "Ye're creepin' me out, didn't even bother t' get up. I'm impressed!" Sheogorath said with a little laugh.

"I have not slept in nearly a century, and you are _well_ aware. Really?" Amelie asked. "This is juvenile, even for you. How did you even manage to hold them for that long?"

"Ye've got t' let me have m' fun before ye go an' die on me, rosy," Sheogorath said reproachingly.

"You've had plenty of fun, and will have more once I am gone, no doubt," Amelie said softly, glaring at him. Grinning widely, Sheogorath sat down in a chair opposite her, eyeing her carefully.

"If I pull off those covers, will I like what I see?" he asked slyly. Amelie stared at him.

"What do you take me for, the worst kind of harlot at nearly 250?"

"Wouldn't know, seein' as I never got to try for m'self—" Amelie stoically tossed a flame at him, Sheogorath laughed. "M' jus' teasin' ye, rosy! Kids don' know how ta have fun anymore."

"You and I have very divergent opinions of _fun."_

Sheogorath craned his neck to look at Martin. "Still sleepin', eh? Deep sleeper, this one. Sedated 'im, did ye?"

"I did nothing of the sort."

_"Really."_

Amelie looked at Martin, indeed still dead asleep. It was working surprisingly intensely for such a mild potion. Jean could certainly hold his own with ale, but had always been a bit of a lightweight when it came to elixirs. "I suspect this is the first time he has gotten decent sleep in a very long while."

"Don't doubt it. Never was fond of Mehrunes. If Jyggalag's a thorn in the side, I'd bet he's the whole damned bushel."

"Mehrunes will not be in Tamriel for a good few millennia yet," Amelie said. "I hope, at least. In that respect, Martin has nothing to worry about."

"I think if anyone's got to worry today, it'd be _you_, little rose," Sheogorath said. "Going to yer grave to get me back where I belong."

"What I was born to do, I suppose," she said dismally. "I'm old, Sheogorath."

"That's nothin'," Sheogorath insisted. "I've got stories from the first year of the era before first era."

"That is because you were _meant_ to be immortal," Amelie said. "I am not. Mortals are not built for such longevity."

"A shame, too. If I could keep ye around longer, I would," Sheogorath said. "But I don' think it'd be much comfort to ye."

Amelie nodded, the faint glimmer of a smile on her face. "I would rather be dead."

"Tell me somethin'." Sheogorath got up as well, approaching her.

"Yes?"

"Did ye love 'im?" He crossed his arms, genuinely curious.

"Depends on the _him."_

"Either. Any. All. Or none," Sheogorath said thoughtfully. "It's yer dyin' day, ye don' have to answer."

"Oh very well, then," Amelie said, looking down at Martin. He really had looked exhausted.

"...Well?" Sheogorath prompted.

A faint smile returned to Amelie's face as she stayed silent.

Sheogorath narrowed his eyes. "So why did ye marry the captain?"

"Because he asked."

"Pathetic."

"I do not regret marrying him," Amelie added. "Those were the happiest years of our lives. And the sanest of mine, I think. I believe without him, my life would have been much less tolerable. And _much_ less fun."

Sheogorath grinned. "If ye say so, rosy."

Amelie crossed her arms, pensive.

"Lost out on the Emperor, so settled fer the next best thing," Sheogorath tacked on loftily. "Ex-Watch Captain's not so bad—"

"Stop it," Amelie sighed. She walked past Sheogorath out of the room, snapping a bolt of lightning at him on the way out.

"Ye're not gonna stick around?" Sheogorath asked after her.

"No. Why would in the world would _Martin_ want me now? I am old and worn and going to die today."


	29. Backfire

**Backfire**

"Please wake up, sir."

Martin stirred, confused. Where was he? He felt oddly rested. "Hm?"

"Ah, good. You're awake. Please come with me."

Haskill stood at the door, holding bunches of flowers and looking bored as normal. "My lady is due to die today, and I get the impression that you would like to see her off."

"Where is Esbern?" Martin asked, getting out of bed.

"Your companion was sent back to Cyrodiil after last night's events," Haskill said, offering Martin a few marigolds wrapped in purple cloth. He himself held a small bouquet of daphene blossoms. "He wished me to tell you that he awaits your return, and that he hopes it will not take long."

"...Thank you."

"It was my lord's decision," Haskill supplied. "My lord is very protective of _all_ his children of madness. He does not take kindly towards attackers. Be grateful his punishment was not more severe."

Martin frowned, still not completely awake. "I see."

He followed Haskill outside the castle, the sun shining brightly above them. "It seems we are a touch late," Haskill said. "If you will."

"Will... what?"

Haskill stared at him, still looking perpetually bored by his presence. He grabbed Martin's arm, and dragged him closer. "Hold tightly, please."

"What—"

Haskill disappeared, dragging Martin along with him into a cold void of black nothingness. After a few tense, panicked seconds, Martin felt his feet hit the ground again, gasping for air.

Sheogorath stood amidst a pile of bones, back against a broken pillar, staring off into the distance. In one hand, he had a handful of dandelions, roots and all, the other resting lazily on his staff. Amelie was sitting on the marble slab beside yet more bones, looking out into the sunrise, her hair blowing in the wind and obscuring her face. New Sheoth was clearly visible, far to the southeast. Haskill cleared his throat politely, waiting for the two rulers to turn around.

Sheogorath picked up his staff, looking jovial.

"We nearly fossilized, ye took so long!"

"I apologize for our lateness, my lord," Haskill said politely. "My lady?"

Amelie still gazed into the clouds as she responded. "Everything is in order."

"Are you quite certain?" Haskill asked apprehensively.

"No mistakes. Not today," Amelie assured him.

"Amelie, what is going on?" Martin asked finally, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

Amelie stood up slowly, carefully, looking as though she might teeter over the edge with a sudden gust of wind. "Today, I die."

"Amelie, you cannot be serious."

"Perhaps the passage of time is difficult for you, as a reincarnated mortal, to grasp," Haskill offered up. "It has been centuries since you last walked the land, am I correct?"

Martin stared blankly at him. "Y-Yes. But I—"

"Then you are well aware that my lady has greatly overstayed her welcome as a mortal herself," Haskill pointed out.

Sheogorath stood beside Amelie, quietly speaking to her. Amelie listened, looking tired, and nodded.

"What will happen to her?" Martin asked.

"I'm... uncertain about the specifics of her circumstance," Haskill said carefully. "We shall see."

_"We shall see,_ is that all you have to say about it—"

"Martin."

Amelie had approached him without them noticing. It occurred to him that this was the first time he had ever seen her hair down, a cluster of blobby white flowers tucked behind her ear. She wore a knife on her hip, but held nothing else.

"Do you remember? What I told you after Jean died?" Amelie asked.

"What? About... about his helmet?" Martin said, struggling to sort through his memories and recall. "His helmet and bow?"

"Both Jean and Anna Marie left behind things that should have protected them," Amelie corrected. "Anna Marie's sword and shield, she lived and died by them. Jean's helmet and bow had gotten him out of many a dire situation before."

"And you wondered what you would leave behind for your own grave," he remembered.

"That was when I was still anticipating death as a Blade," she admitted. "Now, though. There is nothing left to protect me, and nothing left for me to do."

"How can you say that? There is unrest in Tamriel, there are people in need of help!" Martin insisted.

"And it is no longer my place to help them," Amelie said. "That falls to you, evidently."

"But Amelie—"

"Why do you want me to stay alive?" Amelie asked, more curious than angry as she turned Martin's every argument back on him. She was calmer than she had been the previous night. Perhaps it came with age, as Martin knew firsthand that the stoicism was not from staring death in the face. "I can no longer help you, and there is nothing left for me to do. Gods' sakes, I am about to restore a Daedric prince to his throne after centuries of having to rule his domain myself."

"Amelie..." Martin searched her face for any sign of worry or hesitation. Nothing he could say to wouldn't end up backfiring on him. "I have only just found you again."

"And I promise, I will be there when you ascend again," Amelie assured him. "Martin, I do believe that you have returned to Nirn for a reason. And that reason is not in the Shivering Isles. Whatever the reason, it does not pertain to me."

Martin dropped the flowers he was holding, Haskill scrambling to pick them up as Martin and Amelie embraced.

"I truly am sorry," Amelie said quietly. "For last night. I was upset."

He gave a hollow laugh. "Just upset?"

"I am old. Hold me accountable for nothing." She pulled back, looking him up and down. "Gods, those scars. I thought I would never see them."

Martin's face fell. "I never wanted to bring them to you. Not like this."

Sheogorath loudly cleared his throat from behind them. Amelie turned and kicked a skull at him, launching it through his shins.

_"RUDE."_

"There _is_ still good to do in Tamriel," Amelie told Martin, ignoring the Prince. "But this time, I can offer you no more help than this, the reassurance that you can succeed."

"You cannot know that," Martin said despairingly. He'd had a hard enough time coming to terms with the Oblivion crisis, and he hadn't even done the bulk of the work. How was he supposed to go forth and be a hero now, alone? "I can't, can't just—no."

He took her frail hands in his own, struggling to accept the fact that mere moments from now, she would no longer be alive.

"No one knows if you _will_ succeed," Amelie admitted. "But I do know that you _can_. You _can_ do this, Martin. In the face of adversity, anything is possible. Although, you no longer have Akatosh in your pocket to back you up."

Martin cracked a small smile, despite the occasion. He was somewhat comforted to see that Amelie herself was also smiling. "It was a nice failsafe while it lasted."

"Don't give up now," Amelie told him. "We were willing to trust you with the Empire two hundred years ago. I would be more than willing to trust you with whatever needs doing now."

"But I am not a hero," Martin said, uncertain. "This isn't my area of expertise."

"No one is an _expert_ hero," Amelie reminded him. "No one is _good_ at it. The only thing that separates successful heroes from unsuccessful ones is death and injury."

This made him feel no better. "Comforting."

"Take comfort where you can."

"I... I never wanted to have to face the world without you at my side," he said, voice breaking as he scrambled to string together the right words. "Please, don't leave me on my own. I have never truly been alone."

"This isn't about you." Amelie shook her head, a faint smile still on her face. "I am too weary to go on any more adventures, but you are _never_ alone. If ever you need guidance, look to the stars. Perhaps I will be watching, with all the legions of heroes that came before you."

Martin, unable or unwilling to continue speaking, nodded mutely. Amelie, seeming to sense this, tugged her hand free.

"Hit first. Don't miss," she reminded him, walking back towards Sheogorath.

"Ready, little rose?" he asked.

"And willing."

No one heard the words she said as she approached the edge of the cliff. Chances were, only Sheogorath himself would have been able to discern the Daedric language. The inaudible, unintelligible words were lost as Amelie leaned into the sun, dagger in hand. Martin turned away rather than watch, flinching as he heard her body fall to the marble ground. The knife clattered away, disturbing a pile of bones as it came to rest.

Silence fell for a moment. The wind stopped. Sheogorath stepped forward, planting his staff in the growing pool of blood surrounding her. A surge of magical energy shot up through it, infusing it with an ancient power. His transparency lessened, the Prince becoming more and more solid with each passing second.

Sheogorath magicked up a gravestone, marked only with the symbol of a rose.

"Well, I'll be damneder than I am now," he said, continuing to solidify such that the sun no longer shone through him. "It worked."

"Of course it did," Haskill said huffily, stepping over her body to examine the grave. "She wouldn't have attempted it otherwise."

Sheogorath shrugged. "Done what she was born for, I s'pose."

"Is that _all_ you can say about it?"

While the prince and his chamberlain bickered good-naturedly, Martin could do nothing but stare at the ground, unable to lift his eyes to the grave or to the fallen Amelie.

"You needn't have stayed." Haskill looked somberly at Martin. "If you had rather—"

"I could never have brought myself to leave," Martin admitted, eyes still fixated on the little white blobs of petals, spotted with red. They rolled half-heartedly away from the gravestone, leaving a faint line of blood in their wake.

"They mean goodbye," Haskill supplied helpfully. "My lady became quite fond of flowers and their symbolism in the past years. These mean 'I desire to please,'" he added, laying his daphene blooms down.

"And these?"

Martin set his sad little flowers down on the marble rather than approach the Prince and the grave.

"Marigolds? I thought you might like them," Haskill said innocuously.

"Why?"

"They symbolize death. And grief, depending on who you ask."

Swallowing hard, Martin nodded. "What about the dandelions?"

Sheogorath turned towards them, lobbing his handful of dandelions over his shoulder and onto the grave. "What, those little things?"

"_Please_ tell me you didn't just pick them from the castle garden on the way over," Haskill sighed.

"I put some thought into it!" Sheogorath insisted. "Y'ever thought about how hard dandelions are t' kill? Rosy was jus' like 'em."

"Dandelions are _weeds_, my lord. My lady will not appreciate _weeds_ on her grave," Haskill said testily.

"Mortals aren't meant t' live that long. And fer good reason, from the looks of it," Sheogorath said, disregarding the chamberlain entirely.

"For a mortal of her age, she looked rather well," Haskill pointed out. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Course 'e does," Sheogorath answered for Martin. "But we expected that." He drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders to Martin. "Now, ex-Emperor body-stealer, I'll _really_ have t' kick ye out."

"Wha...?"

Sheogorath crossed his arms, glaring down at Martin. "Been a while since I've seen ye, but ye're not _you_. Get out."

Helpless, Martin looked to Haskill for guidance. Haskill returned to his signature bored look, summoning a book out of thin air.

"You are a friend of my lady's, and I feel as though I should be sorry for you," Haskill announced. "Take this."

"What is it?"

"Before her return, she spent time in the north," Haskill explained. "These are her observations of what I can only assume is some sort of lost language."

Martin flipped through it. Most of the pages were blank, but the few in the beginning were covered with script. The writing was shaky, but legible. Haskill was right, the language was unfamiliar, but... somehow?... sounded right in his mind.

"What language is this?" Martin asked, fascinated.

"I never asked. She never said."

"Can ye take this outside?" Sheogorath asked, impatient. "Really, ye're gettin' on m' nerves. An' now rosy's gone, I don' have to be polite."

Martin looked up from the notebook, looking between the increasingly impatient Sheogorath and the unhelpful Haskill.

"I must agree," Haskill said, turning away from him and magicking up what Martin thought could be embalming tools. "Please do leave."

"But—"

"You must be familiar with _some_ form of adventuring," Haskill said. "You know, place one foot in front of the other, face the direction you want to go. Off with you."

"Please, allow me to grieve her, at least," Martin pleaded. "My dearest friend has died, and you expect me to, to just go along my merry way?"

"It'd be nice, yes." When this garnered no response, Sheogorath rolled his eyes. "Lost cause, aren't ye. _Dearest friend..._ Lonely, unloved, and unworthy, you are." Sheogorath shook his head, laughing as he and Haskill turned to leave. "Come on then, Haskill. Bring her along, we've got work to do. Let's go see what we can find."

Haskill obeyed, lifting Amelie from where she had fallen and vanishing with her.

Martin said a soft prayer, sitting down on the marble steps beside the bloody, vacant gravestone. "You kept her safe, but take her now? I wished not to be without her. What am I to do?"

The world was silent, and he was alone.


	30. Skyrim

**Skyrim**

Esbern had been sitting in the boat, aimlessly floating around the bay with his thoughts. The moment Martin came to the surface, he leapt to attention, rowing towards him and getting him aboard.

"What happened?" he asked at once. "Where's Amelie?"

"She is dead," Martin said curtly, shaking the water out of his hair and clothes.

"Dead? But I thought—"

"I thought as well. I could not stop her."

"Did she... what happened, Martin?" Esbern frowned, confused, taking up the oars. "She was definitely far on in years, but..."

"She sacrificed herself to restore the true Sheogorath," Martin said. "We are no longer welcome in the Shivering Isles. Either of us."

"I thought as much," Esbern grumbled, rowing towards shore. "What've you got there?"

He nodded to the little notebook that Martin was shaking water out of. The writing inside looked unharmed.

"It was Amelie's last research notebook," he said, giving it to Esbern. "I am not familiar with the language she wrote it in."

Esbern released the oars and flipped through it, eyes wide as the boat drifted off-course. "This is incredible."

"It's not much," Martin said, "but Haskill thought to give it to me. It must mean something."

"Don't worry. I'll help you." Esbern took up the oars again as Martin looked through the book again. "Where to now, Martin?"

"Wherever there is trouble in Tamriel," Martin said, anxious but determined. "But first, I want to go back to Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Sure. That's on the way, anyway."

"Where will we go?" Martin asked.

"I'm going to take you to Skyrim."

* * *

There was a sadness in him, Esbern could see it. He hung back as Martin planted a small flower beside Jean's and Anna's graves. The poor little marigold was likely doomed to a fast death in the subzero temperatures of the mountains, but he supposed that this was one of the times where the thought counted more than the action.

They went back inside, the walk quiet and heavy. Whatever had happened in the Shivering Isles, Martin did not seem eager to share. Esbern supposed that if it was something Martin wanted him to know, he would say so.

"So, then... Skyrim," Martin said hoarsely.

"Right." Esbern laid down a map of Skyrim. "The High King of Skyrim has been murdered, and now a faction of Skyrim's loyalists are aiming to separate Skyrim from the Empire."

"Why must everything begin with assassination?" Martin dragged his eyes across the map, trying to make sense of it.

"That's not my concern, though. The real problem lies with dragons."

Martin frowned. "Dragons have not been seen in Tamriel for centuries."

Esbern sat back in his chair. "The Elder Scrolls foretold their return, and now it has come to pass. It's making people nervous, as you can imagine.

Martin frowned at the map. "But... what am _I_ to do about it? Ask them to leave? I may be Dragonborn, but I am no miracle worker."

"Slay the dragons," Esbern said. "Be a hero, _something_ must be done."

"Yes, but slay a dragon? I have only the barest scrapings of combat training, and my last war did not exactly end in my personal favor," Martin said bitterly.

"Don't think I'd just send you in there alone. I am a Blade, this is what I'm trained for." Esbern rolled up the map, gesturing for Martin to follow him. "We're going north."

"And then?"

"Then you go slay dragons and make us all proud." Esbern turned to look at him before they left the temple. "If nothing else, do it because you are the only hope we have. You have a dragon's soul, and that's not easy to come by."

"I am no warrior," Martin said.

"But you are an Emperor. At least, you were, once." Esbern and Martin trekked out in the snow, making their way north. "The Empire is in danger. It's been failing since the end of third era. We're two centuries into fourth era, and nothing is improving."

"I will do what I can, but what if..." He fell silent, worried. Esbern laughed.

"You think Amelie and Jean Christophe were never nervous? Think Anna went into every fight knowing she'd come out alive? That none of them ever rehearsed a speech of last words in their heads?"

"What? No, of course not."

"They're just like you. You're like them. Just people, with the power to change something." Esbern smiled kindly at him. "Granted, you're a bit of a special case, but you understand."

Martin struggled to wrap his brain around this. First his own death, then Amelie's, and now dragon slaying? It in no way felt like centuries had passed. Things were just as hectic as before.

* * *

"What's on your mind, Breton?"

Martin looked up, still not used to being called a Breton. Esbern had set them up at an inn for the night while they made their way towards Skyrim. Esbern was searching for some horses, and had instructed Martin to wait. Martin sat alone in the tavern with his thoughts, now interrupted.

"Hm?"

The innkeeper was offering him a a drink. "You look out of sorts, my friend."

Martin accepted the drink, smiling wearily. "I don't mean to."

"Well, what _do_ you mean to?"

Martin fell into thought for a moment. "I simply wonder how it can be that someone is of common birth, but noble heart."

The innkeeper laughed. "I think we've got more to fear from the opposite."

This made Martin feel no better. He stared into the foam, pensive. The innkeeper looked quizzically at him.

"Got a woman back home?" the innkeeper asked. "Only men I see in here that stare at their drinks 'stead of drinking 'em have that problem."

"It is not a _problem!"_ Martin insisted. The innkeeper laughed.

"Touchy subject, I see. Must be some woman to have you so worried."

Martin returned his gaze to the drink, its contents swirling slowly as the bubbles dissipated. "She was not just _some woman."_

"Was? Oh. My condolences, friend."

The innkeeper fell silent for a moment, glancing around at the other patrons, of which there were few. "Still... in all honesty, I think anyone's better off dead than in this day and age."

"Death cannot be any better or worse," Martin pointed out.

"Won't know 'til we get there, though, will we?" The innkeeper took a swig from a flask of his own. "Believe what you like. I'll believe in whatever makes me feel better, there's no way to prove it right or wrong."

Martin nodded, getting up, his drink untouched. "Thank you."

Martin got up to take a walk. The sun was just rising, the morning's snow almost luminous in the low light. Martin had never passed the border of Cyrodiil before. It felt like such a long time ago, when he had gone through the motions every day in the Chapel of Akatosh. He had certainly never expected to be asked to slay a dragon. He'd scarcely left Kvatch before meeting the Azaraths.

Vaguely wondering where Esbern was, he stopped on a ridge in the mountains. He thought, if he squinted and strained his eyes, he could still see Bruma. Would he ever return? _Could_ he ever?

He sighed. It was no use now, Skyrim was where he needed to be. Whatever was left in Bruma had not been left for him.

The point of a sword dug into his back.

"Missing home, are we?"

Martin went rigid, turning slowly around. A trio of men in Imperial armor were staring him down, weapons out.

"Border crossing's illegal," one of them said, raising his sword.

* * *

Martin opened his eyes. It was dim, the ground was cold and hard. What faint light there was shone through bars on the window. Prison?

He rose gingerly to his feet, trying to recall what had happened. It certainly hadn't ended in his favor, that was for sure. The bars on the window opened to a clear night sky. The sign of the Lady shone brightly.

He stared out the window, sighing heavily. It was grim to think of taking on this adventure alone, but somehow comforting to know that the roles had finally reversed. It was his turn to be the adventurer, and hers to be the spectator, even more helpless than he had been.

"The most I can do for you now is to keep your children's children safe," he told the night sky. "I hope that when I succeed, I will feel worthy of your heart."


End file.
